BUTTON'S     INN. 


//  might  be  only  on  enchanted  ground ; 

It  might  be  merely  by  a  thought's  expansion; 

But  in  the  spirit,  or  the  flesh,  I  found 

An  old  deserted  mansion. 

HOOD. 


BUTTON'S    INN. 


BY 


ALBION   W.   TOURGEE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  FOOL'S  ERRAND,"  "  HOT  PLOWSHARES,"  ETC. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1887. 


Copyright,  1886, 
BY  W.  H.   BUSBEY. 

Copyright,  1887, 
BY  E.  K.  TOURGEE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


PREFACE. 


IN  this  volume  only  the  name  and  situation  of 
the  original  BUTTON'S  INN  have  been  retained. 
The  traditions  of  descent  and  nomenclature  are  partly 
borrowed  and  partly  fanciful.  Whether  the  Basse  a 
loin  at  which  the  French  explorer  was  commanded  to 
land  his  forces  was  the  site  of  Barcelona,  and  whether 
that  name  was  derived  therefrom,  is  not  now  ascer- 
tainable.  The  real  tragedy  of  Button's  Inn  was  quite 
unlike  the  one  herein  attributed  to  it,  and  the  ghost 
which  it  was  said  once  haunted  its  ruins  is  no  doubt 
quite  as  imaginary  a  creature  as  the  one  I  have  chosen 
to  delineate. 

The  good  people  to  whom  the  supersedure  of  the 
ancient  highway  brought  misfortune  were  not  in  any 
way  connected  with  the  establishment  of  the  new  reli 
gion,  so  far  as  I  know ;  but  the  life  of  thjs  repnorL  in 
which  the  story  is  located,  ^iir?'"?  **"*  litpr  ypir«-  nf  t^p 
Inn,  was  precisely  that  from  which  Mormonism  sprang. 
Two  of  its  early  leaders  —  one  an  Apostle  —  went  from 
this  county.  Tradition  imputes  to  one  of  them  suspi 
cion  of  a  mysterious  crime.  The  self-accusing  impulse 


913968 


VI  PREFACE. 

attributed  to  the  Apostle  is  borrowed  from  the  judicial 
annals  of  another  State,  and  is  a  curious  incident  of  the 
early  history  of  "the  New  Dispensation." 

Without  regard  to  what  Mormonism  now  is,  I  have 
endeavored  to  depict  it  as  it  was  then  regardedjboth. 
by  those  who  came  in  contact  with  it  and  the  "  Saints  " 
themselves.  It  was  a  curious  product  of  a  strange 
religious  and  intellectual  development.  As  a  child  I 
have  a  vivid  recollection  of  the  Temple  at  Kirtland, 
Ohio,  before  it  was  dismantled.  The  accounts  which 
are  accessible  of  the  manner  and  appearance  of  the 
Prophet  Josjeph  Smith  are  singularly  conflicting.  I 
have  followed  one  given  by  an  eye-witness,  from  whose 
narrative  the  scene  in  the  Temple  is  chiefly  drawn. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  there  was  a  certain  Oriental 
warmth  of  fancy  about  the  founder  of  the  Mormon 
faith  which  was  entirely  lacking  in  the  bleak,  frigid, 
matter-of-fact  nature  of  his  successor.  The  ceremo 
nials,  which  according  to  report  were  at  the  outset 
impressive  and  poetical  in  character,  so  far  as  they  are 
revealed  to  the  eyes  of  the  Gentile  are  now  barren 
and  unimpressive  to  the  very  verge  of  the  ludicrous ; 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  secret  rites  of  the 
Endowment  House  are  about  equally  horrible  and 
grotesque.  Brigham  Young  was  no  doubt  a  much 
greater  man  than  Joseph  Sfmith  :  but  the  latter  was  un 
questionably  a  poet,  as  every  founder  of  a  new  faith 
must  be,  while  his  successor  was  utterly  devoid  of 


PREFACE,  Vll 

imaginative  power.  The  whole  movement  was  purely 
American  in  character,  —  the  American  orientalized  by 
Christian  tradition.  Almost  all  ks  early  membership 
was  drawn  from  western  New  York,  northern  Ohio,  and 
Vermont,  from  which  latter  State  have  come  the  ma 
jority  of  its  leaders.  This  fact  is  no  doubt  the  primary 
cause  of  the  attention  of  the  senator  from  that  State 
being  specially  directed  to  the  evils  arising  from  this 
peculiar  religious  fantasy.  In  1836  Smith  declared  that 
there  were  less  than  fifty  foreigners  in  the  sect,  while  one 
who  travelled  with  the  main  body  on  its  famous  Western 
march,  after  the  fall  of  Nauvoo,  said  :  "  To  pass  along 
the  line  of  wagons,  listen  to  the  conversation,  and  hear 
the  hymns  and  prayers  of  the  emigrants,  one  would 
think  he  had  fallen  in  with  a  caravan  of  New  England 
crusaders  crossing  the  desert  on  their  way  to  conquer 
the  Holy  Sepulchre  from  the  Infidels." 

Intimate  association  with  one  of  thfi  parly  rh'sriplp^ 
and  the  acquaintance  of  some  very  intelligent  believers 
in  this  curious  faith  have  given  me  a  strong  interest  in 
its  origin  and  the  philosophy  of  its  evolution  from  the 
religious  life  of  that  day.  This  evolution  I  have  sought 


It  was  long  an  agricultural  problem  —  perhaps  it 
still  is  with  some  few  tillers  of  the  soil  —  whether 
cheat  or  chess  came  from  deteriorated  wheat  or  not. 
One  thing  was  accounted  certain,  —  chess  grew  only 
where  wheat  had  been  sown.  Whether  Mormonism 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

is  the  chess  of  the  religious  life  of  the  first  half  of 
the  present  century  or  not,  it  is  certain  that  faith  in 
Moroni's  revelations  sprang  up  in  the  shadow  of  a 
peculiar  Christian  idealism,  which  especially  abounded 
in  the  region  where  the  story  is  laid,  giving  to  different 
lives  a  varying  color,  according  to  the  nature  of  each. 
The  elder  characters  herein  portrayed  are  contrasted 
types  of  the  life  which  was  largely  shaped  by  this  influ 
ence  ;  Dewstowe,  Ozro,  and  Dotty,_of  that  resulting 
life  in  which  material  interests  have  subordinated  and 
in  great  measure  superseded  religious  sper.nlatirm. 
My  purpose  has  been  faithfully  to  depict  the  life  which 
marked  the  period  in  which  these  epochs  met  and 
overlapped,  —  when  the  one  was  setting  and  the  other 
rising  in  our  Western  world.  The  episode  of  the  pin- 
making  machine  has  been  regarded  as  fanciful,  but  a 
well  known  family  in  this  region  long  treasured  the 
model  herein  described  as  a  relic  of  the  inventive 
genius  of  one  of  its  most  gifted  members. 

A.  W.  T. 

MAYVILLE,  N.  Y., 

June  28,  1887 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

"A  JOLLY  PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD"    ....  i 

A  FAIR  YOUNG  MISTRESS 18 

A  REGULAR  BOARDER 29 

A  VACANT  CHAMBER 57 

ONCE  FOR  ALL 7§ 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD 91 

A  COMMERCIAL  VIEW nS 

A  MODERN  EPHESUS 14° 

A   "SENSIBLE   AND    TRUE  AVOUCH " 165 

" ASHES  TO  ASHES" i?7 

ON  THE  VERGE  OF  DESTINY 200 

THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE 212 

AFTER  MANY  DAYS          233 

A  MISSION  OF  MERCY 257 

BLOTTED  OUT 265 

A  SUDDEN  START    274 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

YESTERDAY'S  WOE 287 

FULFILLING  LOVE'S  COMMANDMENT 305 

THE  SHADOW  OF  CRIME 315 

IN  THE  NEW  JERUSALEM 335 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PROPHET 345 

UNEXPECTED  RESULTS •  357 

A  FUTILE  QUEST 365 

AWAKENED  JUSTICE 375 

PARTITION  AND  PARTNERSHIP 386 

SAINTS  AND  SINNERS 394 

SOUL  SCOT 402 

A  WEAVER'S  KNOT 410 

THE  WORLD'S  MUTATION 415 


BUTTON'S    INN. 


"A  JOLLY   PLACE   IN   TIMES   OF   OLD." 

TT)UTTON'S  INN  stood,  — let  me  not  say 
-L^  stands,  since  all  that  the  name  imports 
has  disappeared,  and  the  wayfarer  now  can 
scarcely  trace  the  footprints  of  its  departed 
glory,  —  Button's  Inn,  while  it  was  yet  an  inn, 
stood  on  a  little  shelf  in  the  line  of  verdant 
hills  that  stretches  along  the  southern  shore  of 
one  of  our  great  lakes.  Three  miles  away,  and 
five  hundred  feet  below  its  mudsill,  was  the 
harbor  to  which  the  road  led  that  ran  by  its 
door.  Winding  along  the  slope  in  search  of 
easy  grades,  the  highway  nearly  doubled  the 
distance  before  it  crept  down  the  last  gentle  de 
clivity  and  spread  itself  out  upon  the  white  shell- 
laden  sands  of  the  beach.  Back  of  it  rose  a  soft 
green  hillside,  moulded  into  harmonious  curves 
by  the  wave-action  of  ages  when  "the  waters 
i 


INN. 


f:  ?e.  te'arth."  At  its  very 
crest  the  hill  was  cloven  by  a  yawning  gorge, 
whose  sides  fell  sheerly  down  to  the  level  of  a 
dashing  stream  that  sped  along  its  slippery  bed 
a  hundred  feet  below.  Here  ran  one  branch  of 
an  impetuous  rivulet,  that  rising  half  a  score  of 
miles  from  the  lake  fought  its  way  with  devious 
windings  through  a  thousand  feet  of  hindering 
shale,  down  to  the  level  of  the  sparkling  lake. 
From  source  to  mouth  there  was  hardly  a  hun 
dred  yards  of  quiet  water.  It  had  cut  the  slaty 
layers  smoothly  off,  so  that  the  riven  ends  made 
a  sheer  wall,  falling  sharply  to  the  water's  edge 
on  either  side,  and  shutting  out  the  sun 
shine  save  at  midday,  until  it  shot  laughingly 
out  from  its  prisoning  banks,  sparkled  and  gur 
gled  for  an  instant  over  rounded  stones,  with 
the  shelving  beach-sands  crumbling  into  it,  and 
then  lost  itself  in  the  blue  bosom  of  the  lake. 

Innumerable  springs  oozed  through  the  sev 
ered  laminae  and  trickled  down  the  shelving  sides, 
wearing  sharp  furrows  in  the  crumbling  rock  in 
which  the  silvery  rills  were  oft  half-hidden  by 
the  hemlocks  and  beeches  whose  moss-clad  roots 
found  precarious  hold  upon  the  narrow  ledges, 
while  the  ferns  grew  rank  upon  the  dripping 
sides.  For  miles  the  stream  rushed  silent  and 


"A  JOLLY  PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD:'         3 

swift  between  its  shadowing  walls,  inaccessible 
to  human  foot,  save  here  and  there  where  an 
impetuous  tributary  had  cut  a  difficult  path  to 
the  bottom  of  the  canon. 

Almost  noiselessly  the  little  stream  swept  over 
its  slippery  bed,  murmuring  gently  as  it  shot 
down  some  self-made  flume  into  a  deeper  pool 
evenly  hollowed  in  the  soft  smooth  rock,  sped 
quickly  round  and  round  a  few  times,  and  then 
glided  swiftly  on  over  the  shallow  ripple  be 
low.  In  these  pools  the  water  had  a  greenish 
tinge  when  the  sunshine  touched  it,  as  if  it  had 
caught  an  emerald  tint  from  the  tender  over 
hanging  verdure.  It  must  have  suited  admira 
bly  the  complexions  of  the  wood-nymphs  who 
no  doubt  once  sported  in  these  secluded  dells. 
Here  and  there  where  the  shelving  soil  had 
been  heaped  against  the  side  of  the  cliff  and 
the  restless  stream  had  ceased  to  undermine  it 
the  hemlocks  grew  dark  and  high,  so  that  their 
topmost  branches  showed  sometimes  above  the 
level  of  the  banks.  Even  yet  there  are  few  more 
romantic  scenes,  cosier  nooks,  or  wilder  bits  than 
are  found  in  this  rugged  glen  that  stretches 
back  into  the  heart  of  the  Chautauqua  hills, 
with  the  emerald-tinted  stream  speeding  swiftly 
and  fiercely,  yet  almost  noiselessly,  along  the 


4  BUTTON'S  INN. 

smooth  but  sinuous  channel  its  restless  waters 
have  so  deftly  carved  in  the  soft,  gray,  slippery 
shale.  Heaven  grant  that  the  foot  of  the  de- 
spoiler  may  be  long  delayed,  and  that  the  trout 
which  hide  in  its  cool  waters  may  long  continue 
too  wary  and  too  few  to  tempt  the  pot  hunter  to 
the  unprofitable  task  of  their  extermination  ! 

The  harbor  was  a  little  bay,  hardly  more  than 
a  wavy  indentation  of  the  shore-line,  forming 
an  insecure  roadstead,  in  which  the  modest  craft 
of  that  day  hid  charily  from  the  fierce  north 
westers  that  visit  the  coast,  behind  a  low  sandy 
bar  that  jutted  out  into  the  lake  just  east  of 
where  the  furious  little  torrent  fought  its  cease 
less  battle  for  the  right  of  way  into  the  blue 
depths:  The  bar  was  formed  of  the  detritus 
which  the  stream  brought  down,  the  result  of  its 
erosive  conflict  with  the  friable  rock  that  lined 
its  course  down  the  steep  hillside.  In  the  palmy 
days  of  the  port  this  protecting  shoal  was  sup 
plemented  by  a  rude  pier  ;  and  on  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  precisely  where  a  perpendicular  let  fall 
from  its  outer  tip  would  cut  the  shore-line,  stood 
a  well-built  tower,  bearing  a  light  by  no  means 
despicable  in  its  day,  and  well  enough  placed 
for  craft  beating  up  the  lake  with  an  off-shore 
breeze. 


"A  JOLLY  PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD."          5 

The  hardy  Voyageurs  —  the  pioneers  of  all 
that  lies  west  of  the  basin  of  the  Hudson  and 
the  crest  of  the  Alleghanies  —  who  first  discov 
ered  this  curious  breakwater  named  the  harbor 
Basse  a  Loin,  the  "  long  bar."  The  English, 
when  they  came  into  possession  of  the  region, 
with  characteristic  ruthlessness  made  haste  to 
corrupt  this  significant  phrase  into  Barcelon, 
and  this,  in  turn,  was  transformed  into  Barce 
lona  ;  which  classic  name  may  still  be  found  on 
hydrographic  charts  of  that  coast,  though  pier 
and  beacon  have  long  since  disappeared,  and 
the  fisherman  now  hangs  his  nets  to  dry  where 
dock  and  warehouse  stood. 

A  half-mile  in  front  of  the  Inn  and  a  hundred 
feet  below  it  ran  a  line  of  hemlock  crests,  show 
ing  dark  over  the  intervening  meadows,  which 
marked  the  course  of  another  branch  of  the 
stream  that  built  the  harbor  bar,  only  less  tu 
multuous  than  its  ally.  Sweeping  around  the 
hill  to  the  westward,  it  joined  the  other  a  mile 
or  better  before  their  united  waters  fell  into  the 
lake.  Along  the  course  of  this  impetuous  trib 
utary  the  Acadian  Voyageurs  established  a  short 
but  difficult  portage  across  the  sharp  divide 
which  separates  the  northward  from  the  south 
ward  flowing  waters  of  the  continent.  Though 


6  BUTTON'S  INN. 

the  headwaters  of  the  Ohio  were  hardly  half-a- 
dozen  miles  away,  the  crest  to  be  surmounted 
rose  more  than  a  thousand  feet  in  height,  and 
the  sharp  precipitous  canon  made  the  carry  es 
pecially  tedious.  The  path  did  not  always  fol 
low  the  course  of  the  stream,  for  the  Voyageur's 
eye  was  as  keen  as  the  deer's  instinct  for  the 
easiest  grades  and  the  shortest  routes.  So  it 
happened  that  just  opposite  where  the  Inn  stood 
the  portage  left  the  bed  of  the  stream,  crept  up 
the  bank  and  skirted  the  edge  of  the  canon  till 
it  struck  a  southward  trending  branch  that  led 
to  the  lowest  notch  in  the  range  of  hills,  through 
which  an  easy  trail  ran  down  to  the  little  lake 
on  which  they  launched  their  batteaux  and  be 
gan  their  journeys  to  the  steaming  Gulf.  Sci 
ence,  after  hunting  vainly  for  an  easier  way 
across  the  stubborn  ridge,  has  been  compelled 
to  fall  back  on  this,  and  the  iron  horse  follows 
reluctantly  the  trapper's  trail. 

The  little  plateau  on  which  the  Inn  stood  was 
a  sightly  eminence,  commanding  in  fair  weather 
a  view  of  the  shore-line  for  half  a  score  of  miles 
in  either  direction  from  the  little  harbor  where 
the  white  masts  of  the  trading  schooners  showed 
plain  above  the  intervening  woodland.  The 
light  from  its  windows,  it  was  said,  was  visible' 


"A  JOLLY   PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD."          J 

upon  the  lake  even  beyond  the  range  of  the 
lighthouse  beacon.  The  Inn  itself  was  a  ram 
bling  structure,  that  had  grown  up  according  to 
the  owner's  need  or  whim  around  the  two-story 
lo°"-house  L'Honnete  Boutonne  had  built  before 

O 

the  portage  was  abandoned  for  the  longer  carry 
but  shorter  route  by  Presque  Isle  and  Le  Bceuf. 
It  was  intended  at  first  to  serve  both  as  fort  and 
residence,  its  upper  story  overlapping  the  lower 
so  as  to  prevent  assault ;  for  the  hardy  Voyageur 
was  the  pioneer  settler,  even  of  his  adventurous 
people,  along  the  route  La  Salle  had  discovered 
to  the  Mississippi.  How  he  came  to  choose  this 
isolation  instead  of  accompanying  the  band  of 
traders  who  made  this  their  highway  in  their 
annual  incursions  to  the  rich  fur-yielding  region 
lying  to  the  southward,  it  is  impossible  to  say. 
Whether  he  was  a  deserter  from  the  force  under 
Celoron,  who  preferred  remaining  in  what  must 
then  have  been  a  genuine  hunter's  paradise,  to 
the  difficult  and  dangerous  service  of  mapping 
out  and  marking  the  boundaries  of  His  Most 
Catholic  Majesty's  possessions  in  the  regions 
occupied  by  the  Iroquois  and  the  Miamies, 
or  one  of  the  two  hundred  stout  axemen,  who 
under  the  command  of  the  enterprising  Hugues 
Pean  are  said,  four  years  later,  to  have  cut  a 


8  BUTTON'S  INN. 

wagon-road  from  Lake  Erie  to  Lake  Chautanqna 
along  the  line  of  the  old  portage,  in  four  days. 
This  fact  shows  that  the  carry  must  have  been 
used  much  more  by  the  trappers  of  New  France 
during  the  seventy  years  succeeding  La  Salle's 
discovery  than  is  generally  supposed,  for  to  have 
cut  a  wagon-road  along  the  old  portage  route 
from  lake  to  lake  through  a  virgin  forest,  in  four 
days,  would  have  required  the  services,  not  of 
two  hundred,  but  of  at  least  a  thousand  axemen. 
It  is  probable  that  there  was  already  a  well-cut 
trail  when  Hugues  Pean  undertook  the  work  he 
performed  with  such  expedition,  and  with  very 
little  relish,  in  obedience  to  the  imperative  order 
of  an  absent  superior. 

Indeed,  it  is  quite  possible  that  L'Honnete 
Boutonne,  instead  of  being  a  deserter  from  any 
organized  company  of  explorers,  was  simply  one 
of  those  adventurous  Canadians  who,  yielding 
to  the  fascinations  of  a  life  in  the  wilderness, 
settled  wherever  their  fancy  dictated,  became  the 
friends  and  very  often  the  kinsmen  of  the  In 
dians,  renouncing  all  wants  beyond  those  of  the 
savage,  and  abandoning  all  thought  of  a  return 
to  civilization.  Why  he  chose  this  particular 
location  is  perhaps  still  more  difficult  to  decide. 
It  may  be  that  he  had  some  special  reason  for 


"A  JOLLY  PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD."          9 

desiring  to  live  convenient  to  the  portage  and 
•yet  be  hidden  from  the  passer-by,  as  his  rude 
dwelling  must  have  been  when  the  hemlocks 
grew  thick  and  dark  in  the  ravines  between  the 
trail  and  the  chestnut-crowned  ridge  on  which 
he  built.  Perhaps  the  very  sightliness  and  beauty 
of  the  situation  attracted  him,  as  well  it  might ; 
since  from  its  threshold  he  could  witness  the  ap 
proach  of  any  expedition  intending  to  cross  the 
portage,  or  note  the  smoke  of  the  camp-fire  of 
any  trapper  coming  to  share  the  abundance  of 
his  unbounded  domain.  It  is  not  impossible 
that  the  ease  of  access  to  the  impassable  gorge 
in  its  rear  may  have  been  one  of  the  controlling 
motives  that  determined  this  location  of  his 
dwelling.  Once  within  the  secluded  depths  of 
the  gorge,  he  could  bid  defiance  to  any  number 
of  savage  foes.  Whatever  the  reasons  which 
controlled  his  action,  the  ancestral  Boutonne 
could  not  have  selected  a  more  picturesque  loca 
tion  for  his  domicile  if  the  whole  region  had 
been  outspread  before  him  in  accurate  projec 
tion.  He  must  have  been  a  bold  man,  this  un 
lettered  trapper,  or  he  would  not  have  dared  to 
make  his  dwelling  in  the  wilderness  a  hundred 
miles  away  from  the  nearest  of  his  people  ;  and 
a  shrewd  one,  moreover,  to  have  fixed  upon  a 


10  BUTTON'S  INN. 

location  combining  so  many  and  such  rare  ad 
vantages, —  satisfying  at  once  the  demands  of  a 
strategist  and  the  instinct  of  a  poet. 

When  the  French  finally  abandoned  this  re 
gion  the  sturdy  trapper  remained.  There  is  a 
tradition  that  he  brought  to  his  sightly  block 
house  a  fair-haired  English  girl  whom  he  found 
captive  among  the  Indians  and  bought  for  a 
wife.  Another  version  declares  that  she  was 
given  to  him  by  his  savage  friends,  who  had 
learned  that  his  sobriquet  of  L'Honnete  Bou- 
tonne  was  true  in  both  its  aspects,  —  the  Voy- 
ageur  being  at  once  honest  and  close-mouthed. 
He  had  passed  away  before  the  English  really 
came  into  possession  ;  and  his  son's  son,  a 
man  past  middle  age,  was  the  host  of  the  Inn 
when  our  story  begins.  All  trace  of  the  Voya- 
geur,  save  his  sobriquet,  had  been  forgotten. 
This  had  become  the  family  name,  Boutonne 
being  abbreviated  first  to  Bouton,  and  after 
ward  to  Button  ;  while  L'Honnete,  transformed 
to  the  familiar  "  Lonny,"  became  the  given 
name  of  the  heir  of  the  Canadian  trapper  and 
the  Indian  captive,  —  whose  marriage,  if  not 
sanctioned  by  priest  or  rite,  had  never  been 
contested.  Indeed,  there  was  nothing  to  con 
test,  for  the  title  of  the  tract  of  land  surrounding 


"A  JOLLY  PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD."        I  I 

his  rude  dwelling  was  not  written  on  parchment 
or  witnessed  by  a  seal,  and  did  not  pass  to  his 
descendants  by  virtue  of  legitimacy.  He  had 
marked  his  own  corners  where  he  chose,  or  left 
them  to  be  marked  by  others  when  and  where 
it  seemed  good  to  them  to  fix  the  limits  of  their 
demesne.  All  that  is  known  about  them  now  is 
that  on  the  first  map  made  by  the  great  Land 
Company  who  became  the  owners  of  all  this 
region  —  under  one  of  those  curious  grants  by 
which  in  those  early  days  illimitable  realms 
were  aliened  by  those  who  not  only  had  no  title 
to  them  but  had  even  no  knowledge  of  their 
boundaries  or  extent  —  an  irregular  quadrilateral 
was  marked  out  between  the  forks  of  the  creek, 
bounded  on  two  sides  by  the  impassable  "gulfs" 
through  which  they  ran,  embracing  some  two 
hundred  acres  "  more  or  less,"  and  marked 
"  Lon  Button's  Land,"  though  his  son  Achille 
had  even  then  long  been  in  possession  of  the 
little  opening  which  was  all  the  axe  had  at  that 
time  conquered  from  the  forest.  To  save  all 
question,  however,  a  nominal  sum  was  afterward 
paid,  and  the  title  to  Button's  Inn  became  duly 
vested,  under  the  broad  seal  of  the  Holland  Land 
Company,  in  Lonny  Button,  the  son  of  Achille 
Bouton,  the  son  of  L'Honnete  Boutonne. 


12  BUTTON'S  INN. 

Though  the  trail  by  which  the  Voyageurs 
ascended  the  portage  was  some  distance  from 
Boutonne's  house,  the  road  that  succeeded  it 
ran  hardly  forty  yards  below  the  Inn,  to  which 
it  was  joined  by  a  white  sandy  loop  that  swept 
up  to  the  steps  leading  down  from  the  low 
broad  porch  which  extended  across  the  front 
not  only  of  the  original  gable,  but  of  its  numer 
ous  additions  ;  for  the  old  log-house  had  been 
boarded  over,  and  though  it  still  held  the  place 
of  honor  as  the  public-room  of  the  Inn,  it  was 
flanked  on  either  side  by  more  modern  struc 
tures.  Across  the  road  were  the  barn  and  sheds, 
before  which  stood  a  great  trough  supplied  with 
water  from  a  spring  that  burst  out  of  the  hill 
side  behind  the  house.  The  downward  slope  in 
the  rear  of  the  barn  was  covered  with  apple- 
trees,  with  rich  meadows  lying  beyond.  The 
upward  slope  back  of  the  house,  and  along  the 
road  on  either  side  of  it,  was  divided  into  fields, 
separated  by  high  rail-fences  with  immense 
"  locks "  and  "  riders  "  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
canon,  whose  precipitous  bank  was  itself  abun 
dant  protection  against  trespassing  beasts. 
Along  this  crest  grew  a  narrow  fringe  of  chest 
nut  and  maple,  which  the  woodman  had  spared ; 
while  the  hemlocks  that  grew  in  the  bottom, 


"A  JOLLY  PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD."       13 

and  here  and  there  upon  the  sharp  declivity, 
showed  dark  and  green  through  the  pic 
tured  fringe  which  autumn  painted  in  gorgeous 
colors. 

Button's  Inn — it  was  spelled  Bouton  on  the 
sign,  but  common  parlance  had  anglicized  the 
name  as  Button  —  in  the  early  days  was  a  favor 
ite  resting-place,  not  only  for  those  who  climbed 
the  ridge  upon  their  way  to  and  from  the  settle 
ments  that  sprang  up  about  the  pleasant  little 
lake  whose  shores  have  since  become  so  famous, 
but  many  eastward  and  westward  wayfarers  left 
the  sandy  shore-line  and  climbed  the  hill  to 
share  the  cheer  of  the  old  hostel  even  at  the  ex 
pense  of  two  or  three  added  miles  and  a  heavy 
pull.  It  was  thought  to  pay  well  both  to  man 
and  beast,  for  good  cheer  and  good  company 
were  always  to  be  found  there,  and  no  horse 
ever  drank  at  Button's  overflowing  trough  with 
out  pricking  up  his  ears  and  turning  thither  of 
his  own  accord  when  next  he  came  to  the  fork 
of  the  road  that  led  to  the  Inn.  For  more 
years  than  any  record  tells,  Button's  was  the  fa 
vorite  hostel  for  many  a  mile  upon  the  great 
highway  that  joined  the  newest  West  to  the 
oldest  East,  as  well  as  upon  that  cross-artery  of 
traffic  which  led  back  from  the  harbor  toward 


14  BUTTON'S  INN. 

the  settlement  around  the  lake  beyond  the  di 
vide,  known  to  L'Honnete  Boutonne  as  Jadaqua, 
and  to  his  descendants  as  Chautauqua. 

But  at  the  time  when  our  story  begins  all 
this  had  changed.  The  Inn  still  stood  with  its 
quaint  sign,  —  a  fearfully  and  wonderfully  painted 
Indian  smoking  the  pipe  of  peace,  —  creaking  in 
the  middle  of  the  green  grass-plot  left  by  the 
circling  track  that  led  to  its  hospitable  door. 
The  great  fireplace  still  yawned  in  the  public- 
room,  and  the  woodpile  that  flanked  the  last 
extension  showed  that  no  apprehension  need  be 
entertained  of  the  failure  of  the  roaring  fire  that 
blazed  upon  its  hearth.  Indeed,  the  fact  that 
it  did  not  fail,  but  burned  on  summer  and  win 
ter  alike,  at  least  at  night,  was  one  of  the 
reasons  why  Button's  Inn  had  Iq^t  its  popu 
larity.  It  still  afforded  entertainment  for  man 
and  beast,  and  neither  larder  nor  granary  had 
ever  been  known  to  fail.  The  water  still  ran 
over  the  sides  of  the  mossy  trough  ;  the  cold 
dashing  stream  at  the  bottom  of  the  glen  in  the 
rear  still  yielded  abundance  of  the  rarest  trout ; 
the  woods  abounded  in  game ;  the  pomace 
heaped  about  the  cider-mill,  and  the  bottles 
that  lined  the  shelves  which  flanked  the  great 
chimney,  testified  that  the  guest  might  yet  find 


"A  JOLLY  PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD."      15 

wholesome  drink  as  well  as  toothsome  fare  at 
Button's. 

Yet  there  were  evident  signs  of  decay  about 
the  old  hostel.  The  sheds  stood  empty.  The 
great  barn-doors  gaped  darkly  at  it  across  the 
dusty  road.  The  loop  that  bound  the  Inn  to 
the  roadway  was  grown  up  with  grass,  save  two 
narrow  tracks  which  the  infrequent  hoofs  kept 
partly  clear.  The  fences  had  fallen  down.  The 
paint  had  grown  dull  upon  the  house.  The 
storms  had  half  washed  out  the  Indian,  and  left 
his  pipe  almost  a  matter  of  tradition.  The 
fire  still  burned  brightly  at  night,  and  shining 
through  the  windows  served  yet  as  a  landmark 
to  the  sailors  making  the  little  port,  whose 
light-house,  like  many  another*  carefully-planned 
beacon,  seemed  to  have  been  located  chiefly  to 
lure  the  mariner  to  doom  ;  for  instead  of  sail 
ing  toward  it,  the  eastward-bound  mariner  had 
to  keep  it  abeam  until  well  abaft  if  he  would 
avoid  the  peril  of  the  sharp-tongued  basse  a  loin, 
from  which,  as  we  have  seen,  the  port  unwit 
tingly  derived  its  legal  name  and  style.  Before 
this  fire  the  host  of  Button's  Inn  sat  now  oft- 
times  alone  in  his  great  splint-bottomed  rocker, 
the  stalls  empty  and  the  kitchen  dark.  It  had 
been  the  scene  of  a  tragedy,  and  was  still  the 


1 6  BUTTON'S  INN. 

seat  of  mystery.     In  short,   Button's    Inn   was 
haunted. 

There  were  some  who  laughed  at  the  super 
stition,  and  taking  counsel  of  their  comfort 
rather  than  their  fears,  still  patronized  the  Inn,. 
and  affirmed  its  excellence.  But  the  children  of 
the  neighborhood  crept  by  it  with  beating  hearts 
and  blanched  faces  after  dark,  and  the  stranger 
wayfarer  who  heard  its  story  told  or  hinted  at, 
often  judged  that  prudence  counselled  him  to 
keep  the  straight  road  rather  than  climb  the 
hill  to  test  its  truth.  Rollicking  companies  of 
foot-travellers  came  now  and  then,  prompted 
sometimes  by  curiosity  and  sometimes  by  the 
desire  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  inn-keeper's  daugh 
ter,  who  was  reputed  to  be  as  fair  as  the  ghost 
was  terrible.  Those  unerring  judges  of  good 
cheer  the  pedlers,  who  thronged  all  the  roads 
at  that  time  with  every  conceivable  form  of  pack 
and  vehicle,  these  came  often  to  stay  over  Sun 
day  at  the  sightly  hillside  hostel.  Yet  even  of 
these  the  number  had  grown  less  and  less  with 
each  succeeding  year  as  Button's  Inn  grew 
more  and  more  dilapidated,  and  Lonny  Button's 
fortunes  became  more  and  more  desperate. 
The  renown  of  its  ghost,  however,  increased  ; 
and  it  seemed  as  if,  having  once  destroyed  the 


"A  JOLLY  PLACE  IN  TIMES  OF  OLD."      I/ 

Inn's  prosperity,  the  "extravagant  and  erring 
spirit "  who  haunted  its  confines  was  even  likely 
to  build  up  the  hostel's  fortunes  again  by  its 
own  uncanny  fame.  For  although  many  years 
had  passed  since  the  ghost  had  actually  been 
seen  by  mortal  eyes,  the  story  was  so  well 
authenticated,  and  there  was  withal  so  much  of 
mystery  about  its  first  appearance,  that  the  tale, 
mellowed  somewhat  by  time,  had  become  an 
attraction  rather  than  a  terror  to  curious  way 
farers.  So  Lonny  Button,  grown  old  and  peev 
ish,  sat  by  his  great  wood-fire  and  told  the  story 
over  and  over  to  each  new  company  of  guests, 
while  the  little  drama  of  life  that  went  on 
within  the  Inn  hinged  on  the  facts  of  the 
ghostly  tale. 


A   FAIR  YOUNG   MISTRESS. 

OZRO!  Oz-r-o-o!" 
The  voice  was  clear  and  full,  and  echoed 
across  the  meadow  that  stretched  down  to  the 
woods  bordering  on  the  lower  creek,  in  a  man 
ner  to  bring  a  smile  of  satisfaction  to  its  owner, 
—  a  buxom  girl  with  red  cheeks,  dark  eyes,  and 
shiny  black  hair  laid  smoothly  away  from  the 
faultless  parting  in  the  middle  of  her  low  broad 
forehead.  She  stood  on  the  porch  of  the  Inn, 
one  hand  resting  on  her  hip,  and  the  other 
turned  palm  outward  above  her  eyes.  She  was 
dressed  in  home-made  plaid  of  a  warm  dark 
color,  which  was  very  becoming  to  one  of  her 
style,  and  betrayed  that  innate  sense  of  fitness 
which  is  the  special  inheritance  of  the  descend 
ants  of  French  ancestry.  The  close  sleeves 
were  turned  above  the  elbow,  showing  a  plump 
tapering  arm  and  firm  round  hand.  The  short 
skirt  revealed,  as  she  stood  on  the  edge  of  the 
porch,  a  pair  of  shapely  feet  clad  in  serviceable 
calfskin  shoes,  neatly  laced  with  leather  strings 


A   FAIR    YOUNG  MISTRESS.  19 

around  the  trim  ankles,  and  permitting  only  a 
finger's  breadth  of  the  woollen  stocking  to  be 
seen  above.  It  was  a  bright  September  morn 
ing.  A  brisk  west  wind  broke  the  distant  lake 
into  ripples  which  flashed  blithely  in  the  sun 
shine,  while  the  tinted  maples  flamed  against 
the  intermingled  evergreens  on  the  slope  below. 
She  repeated  her  call,  watching  the  great  barn 
door  opposite  as  it  swung  idly  to  and  fro,  with 
visible  impatience. 

"What  do  ye  want  o'  that  shiftless  creetur, 
Dotty?  Jest  tell  me  what  'tis,  an'  I'll  see't 
he  'tends  to  it.  Don't  stan'  there  splittin'  yer 
throat  a  hollerin'  at  him.  Like 's  not  he  ain't 
within  half  a  mile  o'  here.  I  never  did  see  the 
beat  o'  him  for  that ;  fust  he  's  here,  then  there, 
an'  then  you  hain't  no  idee  where  he  is." 

The  voice  came  from  the  public-room,  the 
door  of  which  opened  on  the  porch,  where  the 
girl  stood.  Its  owner  appeared  at  the  door  as 
he  ceased  speaking.  He  was  a  man  hardly 
above  the  middle  height,  but  of  great  breadth 
of  frame,  which  seemed  to  fill  the  wide  doorway 
as  he  stood  looking  down  upon  the  girl  from 
the  threshold,  which  was  a  step  above  the  porch. 
His  great  iron-gray  head  fell  forward  between 
his  shoulders.  His  eyes  burned  angrily  under 


20  BUTTON'S  INN. 

huge  overhanging  brows.  His  wide  mouth, 
close  shut,  showed  the  same  savage  strength 
that  may  have  suggested  the  epithet  Bontonne, 
by  which  the  ancestor  of  Lon  Button,  —  or  as 
he  was  familiarly  termed,  "Hawk"  Button, — 
was  distinguished.  The  latter  name  was  made 
all  the  more  appropriate  by  the  great  beak-like 
nose  which  over-hung  his  wide  mouth  and  thick 
purple  lips.  His  face  was  covered  with  a  thick 
stubble  of  white  beard,  which,  though  a  week 
old,  did  not  conceal  the  marks  of  dissipation. 

"  He  does  get  around  pretty  spry,  Pa,"  said 
the  girl,  pleasantly.  The  pronunciation  of  the 
last  word  was  the  only  indication  of  her  Aca 
dian  ancestry.  She  gave  the  vowel  the  peculiar 
short,  flattened  sound  which  still  prevails  in  the 
Canadian  provinces. 

"Say^/y,  Dotty,  —  sly's  the  word,"  rejoined 
the  father,  vehemently.  "  He 's  just  as  sly  as  the 
devil,  and  to  my  mind  in  league  with  him,  too." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  like  that,  Pa,"  answered  the 
girl  with  a  frown.  "  Only  think  what  Ozro  does 
f or  USj  —  more  'n  any  man  we  could  hire,  and 
without  a  word  of  complaint  even  at  your 
scolding." 

"That 'sit,  —  that's  jest  it,"  said  the  father, 
stepping  down  upon  the  porch  with  an  uncer- 


A   FAIR    YOUNG  MISTRESS.  21 

tainty  of  movement  that  suggested  inebriety 
(though  he  was  sober  enough  at  the  time)  and 
shaking  his  finger  toward  her  argumentatively, 
—  '•'  that 's  jest  it.  'T  ain't  nateral,  don't  ye  see, 
for  a  boy  of  his  age  to  do  so  much  an'  stan' 
so  much,  without  makin'  a  row  about  it.  Why 
don't  he  run  away?  We  don't  want  him 
here,  —  never  did  want  him,  Dotty ;  only  your 
mother,"  —  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper 
and  looked  cautiously  around  as  he  spoke, — 
"your  mother,  Dotty,  it  was  her  doin's  keepin' 
him.  What  did  we  want  of  the  beggar's  brat  ? 
He 's  brought  nothin'  but  bad  luck,  —  bad  luck 
an'  the—  He  paused  and  glanced  back 

toward  the  room  he  had  left,  with  a  curious, 
startled  manner. 

"  There,  there,  Pa,"  said  the  girl,  soothingly 
but  yet  imperatively,  "you  go  and  sit  down, 
an'  leave  me  to  take  care  of  Ozro.  He  an'  I 
get  on  first-rate,  you  know." 

"  That 's  jest  what 's  the  matter,  Dotty,"  said 
her  father,  as  he  yielded  to  her  touch  and  was 
led  back  to  his  great  armchair  before  the  fire ; 
"  you  get  along  with  him  too  well.  Jest  see 
how  he 's  bewitched  yer  mother,  child.  Only 
look  what 's  happened  to  her  an'  hers  sence 
he  showed  his  miserable  carrot  head  under 


22  BUTTON'S  INN. 

this  roof!  An'  yit  see  what  store  she  sets  by 
him!  It's  been  nigh  fifteen  years  sence  she's 
spoke  a  loud  word,  an'  we  growin'  poorer  an* 
poorer  all  the  time.  But  that  boy  had  to  be 
sent  to  school  an'  have  all  the  advantages,  no 
matter  what  happened  to  the  rest  on  us.  Then 
there  would  n't  nothin'  do  but  I  must  make 
over  the  title  of  the  place  to  her,  an'  I  'spect 
next  thing  she  '11  be  givin'  it  to  him.  Should  n't 
wonder  ef  she  'd  done  it  a'ready.  That  would 
be  a  nice  kittle  o'  fish,  would  n't  it  ? " 

"  Don't  you  fret  about  it,  Pa  ;  I  '11  look  after 
Ma  and  Ozro  too,  and  see 't  there  don't  any 
thing  go  wrong  with  you,  either.  You  just  leave 
things  to  me,"  said  the  girl,  humoring  his  mood, 
but  evidently  accustomed  to  control. 

"  Don't  have  anything  to  do  with  him,  Dotty 
—  don't.  He  '11  be  the  ruination  of  ye  ef  ye  do, 
jest  as  he 's  been  the  ruination  of  Button's 
Inn." 

"  But  he  's  the  main  stay  of  it  now,"  laughed 
Dotty,  as  if  accustomed  to  such  ebullitions  on 
the  part  of  her  father.  "  I  must  go  and  call 
him  to  go  down  into  the  'Gulf  for  some  fish. 
You  know  to-morrow  is  Saturday,  and  —  you 
know  who  comes  on  Saturday,"  she  added 
archly. 


A   FAIR    YOUNG  MISTRESS.  2$ 

«What  — what?  Who?"  said  Hawk  Button, 
looking  quickly  around. 

"  Why,"  said  the  daughter,  gayly,  "  I  did  n't 
think  you  would  forget  your  favorite,  Mr. 
Dewstowe." 

"  Dewstowe  ?  Is  Dewstowe  comin'  to-morrer  ? 
That 's  right,  Dotty  ;  be  good  to  Dewstowe. 
He  's  the  right  sort,  Dewstowe  is.  Besides  that, 
he  's  got  money.  He  '11  make  the  Inn  what  it 
ought  to  be  ag'in.  That's  right ;  get  ready  for 
him  —  that 's  a  good  girl." 

Dotty  Button  —  her  name  was  written  Doro 
thy  in  the  family  Bible  —  left  the  house  and 
crossed  the  road  to  the  barn.  She  paused  just 
inside  the  great  door,  and  called  again,  but  not 
loudly,  and  the  tone  was  one  of  confidence  and 
familiarity. 

«  Ozro ! " 

"  Well  ? "  came  in  a  cheerful  voice  from  the 
shed  at  the  rear. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ? " 

"  Killing  a  sheep." 

"  May  I  come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  he  's  dead  !  " 

Dotty  stepped  hesitatingly  across  the  wide 
floor  and  peeped  through  a  crack  in  the  back 
door  before  she  showed  herself  at  the  opening, 


24  BUTTON'S  INN. 

for  one  half  the  great  door  was  propped  back 
against  the  side  of  the  barn.  A  young  man, 
who  had  just  finished  slaughtering  a  lamb,  came 
briskly  toward  her,  wiping  his  hands  on  the 
apron  he  wore.  They  left  bloody  stains  on 
the  white  linen,  but  this  did  not  disturb  the 
inn-keeper's  daughter;  she  was  accustomed  to 
such  sights.  She  thought  the  hands  were  very 
shapely,  however,  as  indeed  they  were,  though 
densely  freckled  by  exposure.  They  were  scru 
pulously  clean  except  for  traces  of  his  recent 
occupation;  for  the  day  of  the  " realistic"  novel 
had  not  dawned,  and  there  were  yet  people  living 
even  in  country  places  who  sometimes  washed 
their  hands. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  briskly. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  n't  go  and  get  some 
trout  to-day.  You  might  see  a  turkey,  too.  I 
heard  one  gobbling  down  in  the  '  Gulf  last 
night." 

"  Perhaps  I  might,"  answered  the  young  man. 

The  floor  on  which  she  stood  was  some  three 
or  four  feet  from  the  ground.  He  picked  a 
straw  from  it  and  began  to  bite  off  little  pieces 
as  he  spoke.  She  leaned  against  the  centre 
post,  and  pushed  bits  of  rubbish  from  the  edge 
with  her  foot.  He  watched  the  foot,  absently. 


A  FAIR    YOUNG  MISTRESS.  2$ 

"  There  '11  be  lots  of  folks  here  to-morrow  if 
it 's  fair ;  and  it  most  likely  will  be,"  she  said, 
glancing  at  the  sky. 

"•Shouldn't  wonder,"  he  responded,  without 
looking  up. 

"  Well,  are  you  going  to  do  it,  Grumpy  ? "  she 
asked  saucily. 

"  Oh  !  — get  you  the  trout,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Of  course.    What  are  you  dreaming  about  ? " 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  go  to  the  '  Gulf  this 
afternoon,  Dorothy  ? " 

His  face  flushed,  but  he  did  not  look  up. 

The  girl  started  at  this  unusual  address,  and 
she  glanced  quickly  down  at  her  companion,  but 
with  a  look  that  did  not  imply  displeasure. 

"  Oh,  I  can't ! "  she  answered  carelessly  ; 
"  we  've  got  more  'n  we  can  do,  —  all  of  us. 
Ma,"  —  she  gave  the  vowel  the  same  curious 
short  sound  she  had  used  in  addressing  her 
father,  —  "  Ma  ain't  very  well,  and  Louise  and 
I  have  got  enough  to  do  to  keep  us  on  the 
jump  all  'day." 

"  Then  /  shall  not  go  !  "  decisively. 

"  Now  —  Ozro  !  "  protestingly. 

The  young  man  looked  up  at  her  for  a  mo 
ment,  resting  one  hand  against  the  sill  on  which 
she  stood,  and  then  gazed  off  at  the  blue  lake 


26  BUTTON'S  INN. 

which  lay  glimmering  through  the  trees,  so  far 
below  that  it  seemed  almost  at  their  feet* 

"  Do  you  know  what  day  to-morrow  will  be, 
Dorothy  ?  " 

"  Why,  Saturday,  of  course." 

"  And  what  day  of  the  month  ? " 

"  The  10th  of  September." 

"And  what  happened  on  that  day  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  unless  it  was  Perry's  vic 
tory,"  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Nothing  else?"  He  was  still  looking  toward 
the  lake  and  biting  off  bits  of  the  straw. 

The  girl  looked  down  at  him  a  moment,  and 
then  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Why,  it  will  be  your  birthday,  won't  it,  Ozro?' 
And  you  will  be  twenty-one  !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  thrill  of  pleasure 
in  her  tones. 

"  I  s'pose  you  '11  be  leaving  us  pretty  soon, 
though  ?  "  she  added  thoughtfully,  after  a 
pause. 

"  I  shall  be  free  !  "  said  the  young  man,  with 
emphasis. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  girl,  absently.  "  I  don't 
know  what  we  '11  do,  though !  " 

She  leaned  against  the  post,  and  picking  up 
the  hem  of  her  apron  began  plaiting  it  over  her 


A   FAIR    YOUNG  MISTRESS.  2/ 

thumb-nail  as  she  spoke.  There  was  a  long 
interval  of  silence. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  '11  do,  I  'm  sure  ! "  she 
repeated  at  length,  with  a  sigh. 

The  young  man  turned  and  looked  keenly  up 
at  her. 

"  I  s'pose,"  she  added,  as  she  turned  slowly 
toward  the  house,  "  we  '11  have  to  do  the  best 
we  can." 

That  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  sinking 
toward  a  golden  bed  in  the  placid  waters  of  the 
lake,  Dotty  Button  sat  upon  a  bowlder  that  lay 
beside  the  path  leading  down  into  the  glen  fa 
miliarly  known  as  "  the  Gulf,"  and  gazed  thought 
fully  out  over  the  fair  picture  the  early  autumn 
spread  at  her  feet.  The  rock  was  full  of  cu 
rious  little  specks,  at  which  she  picked  list 
lessly  with  a  bit  of  twig  which  she  broke  from 
a  bush  near  her.  She  did  not  know  that  they 
were  garnets  brought  from  undiscovered  Alaska 
by  the  great  glacier  whose  southern  edge  had 
rested  for  unreckoned  ages  where  she  sat. 

The  house  was  hidden  from  her  view  except 
the  upper  windows,  which  the  setting  sun 
painted  with  golden  light.  Beyond  it  she  saw 
the  harbor  and  the  unruffled  bosom  of  the  lake, 
with  the  sun  shining  across  its  bright  waters. 


28  BUTTON'S  INN. 

She  heard  footsteps  coming  up  the  rugged  path, 
and  her  face  lighted  with  pleasure  as  she  peered 
through  the  hemlocks  and  recognized  the  young 
man,  Ozro  Evans.  A  moment  later  he  laid  a 
brace  of  turkeys  and  a  string  of  trout  at  her 
feet,  and  stood  looking  down  at  her  as  she  ex 
amined  them  with  the  unconscious  keenness  of 
a  connoisseur. 

"  Well,  you  have  had  luck  to-day ! "  she  ex 
claimed,  in  tones  of  hearty  admiration.  Her 
eyes  wandered  from  the  game  at, her  feet  to 
the  comely  figure  of  the  young  man  before  her 
without  losing  any  of  their  approving  glow. 

"  I  hope  your  friends  will  enjoy  them,"  he  said, 
as  a  look  of  pain  crossed  his  face. 

A  woman,  gray-haired  and  wan  of  feature, 
who  watched  out  of  the  sun-gilded  upper  window 
of  the  Inn,  sank  upon  her  knees  as  she  saw  them 
together,  and  raised  her  hands  to  heaven,  while 
tears  rained  down  her  wrinkled  cheeks. 


A   REGULAR   BOARDER. 

EIGHTEEN  years  before  our  story  opens, 
a  woman  had  come  to  the  Inn  one  day 
in  autumn  accompanied  by  a  little  boy.  She 
was  well  dressed,  and  the  trunk  that  was  taken 
from  the  boot  of  the  stage  and  deposited  upon 
the  porch  bore  the  unmistakable  stamp  of  wealth 
and  respectability.  It  was  covered  with  un 
dressed  deerskin,  trimmed  at  the  corners  with 
rawhide,  and  studded  with  brass  nails  forming 
on  the  top  the  initials  "  M.  E.  E."  The  lady 
seemed  greatly  depressed,  which  might  have 
been  the  effect  of  her  long  ride.  She  wished  to 
rest  over  Sunday,  she  said,  if  she  could  secure 
desirable  lodgings  ;  if  not  she  would  go  on  to 
the  harbor,  and  risk  the  chance  of  a  boat  to  her 
destination,  as  she  was  quite  unable  to  travel 
farther  by  stage.  She  was  unwilling  to  risk  the 
chance  of  seasickness,  however,  and  preferred  to 
recuperate  for  a  few  days  after  her  long  ride  be 
fore  proceeding  on  her  journey.  Fortunately  the 


3O  BUTTON'S  INN. 

big  chamber  over  the  public-room  was  unoccu 
pied,  and  to  this  the  guest  was  shown,  the  land 
lord  apologizing  for  the  narrow  winding  stairs  as 
he  conducted  her  to  it. 

It  was  the  upper  story  of  L'Honnete  Bou- 
tonne's  old  block-house.  Larger  than  the  room 
below  because  of  the  overhang  already  noted, 
it  was  accessible  only  by  the  stairway  from  the 
public-room.  In  the  early  days  of  the  Inn  it  had 
been  a  common  lodging-room  where  the  guests 
slept  as  they  could,  while  the  room  beneath  it 
served  as  kitchen,  dining  and  lodging  room  for 
the  innkeeper  and  his  family.  The  heavy  floor, 
separated  from  the  ceiling  by  the  thickness  of 
the  great  logs  on  which  it  rested,  effectually 
muffled  all  sounds  from  the  room  below.  It 
had  been  somewhat  modernized  in  the  course 
of  the  various  changes  which  had  been  effected 
for  the  Inn's  enlargement  and  adornment.  On 
the  outside  it  was  clapboarded  in  decorous  uni 
formity  with  the  additions,  and  like  them  had 
been  painted  a  glowing  red.  Within  it  had 
been  half-ceiled,  as  it  was  then  termed,  —  that 
is,  from  the  eaves  upward  along  the  rafters,  —  to 
shut  out  the  cold.  This  ceiling  was  as  smoke- 
stained  and  brown  almost  as  the  hewn  logs 
that  formed  the  walls.  Near  the  rear  end  a  rude 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  31 

log-beam  crossed  the  room.  Against  this  the 
front  of  the  great  stone  chimney  rested,  and  a 
partition  was  built  along  it  on  one  side,  in  which 
was  the  door  leading  to  the  stairway.  This 
stairway  was  regarded  as  a  triumph  of  conven 
ience  and  economy  by  the  carpenter  by  whom 
it  was  built.  It  was  narrow  and  difficult,  but 
occupied  only  the  width  of  the  chimney.  In 
the  front  of  the  room,  reaching  almost  to  the 
peak,  were  two  square  windows  which  com 
manded  a  view  unrivalled  for  extent  and  beauty. 
At  that  time,  however,  scenery  was  not  so  highly 
prized  as  it  has  been  of  recent  years.  The  ap 
pointments  of  the  room  were  comfortable,  but 
not  luxurious.  The  fireplace,  which  gaped  black 
and  empty,  was  only  less  capacious  than  the 
one  below. 

The  strange  lady  at  once  sank  down  upon 
the  bed  and  asked  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  sent 
to  her.  It  was  brought  by  the  landlady,  who 
regarded  with  a  surprise  not  unmixed  with 
envy,  as  it  seemed,  the  rich  belongings  of  her 
guest.  It  is  no  wonder  if  she  did,  for  it  is 
quite  impossible  to  guess  at  this  time  the  dif 
ference,  which  then  existed  in  the  matter  of 
feminine  adornment  between  the  East  and  the 
West.  To  the  starved  instinct  of  the  landlady 


32  BUTTON'S  INN. 

this   well-dressed   woman    no   doubt    seemed   a 
miracle  of  luxury. 

When  Monday  came,  the  lady  announced  her 
intention  of  remaining  for  a  week,  or  even  longer, 
if  she  continued  to  be  pleased  with  her  sur 
roundings.  As  she  accompanied  the  announce 
ment  with  the  prepayment  of  board  for  the 
time  specified,  no  objections  were  made.  So, 
after  serious  consultation  between  the  landlord 
and  his  wife,  the  lady  became  a  weekly  tenant 
of  the  room,  with  its  great  windows  looking  out 
upon  the  sparkling  lake  over  the  intervening 
woodland,  at  a  rate  that  would  seem  ridiculous 
enough  to  any  modern  Boniface.  Indeed,  it  was 
accounted  not  only  a  piece  of  good  fortune,  but 
a  distinguished  honor,  that  one  so  evidently 
capable  of  judging  the  merits  of  the  Inn,  and 
able  to  indulge  her  inclination,  should  think  of 
making  so  prolonged  a  stay  beneath  its  roof. 
Even  a  less  desirable  lodger  would  have  been 
welcome;  for  though  the  Inn  was  prosperous, 
especially  for  that  day  when  a  little  was  counted 
a  fortune  because  others  had  so  much  less, 
leisurely  travellers  were  yet  rare  along  the  line 
of  the  old  portage.  The  stage  was  very  Uncer 
tain  in  its  time  of  arrival,  and  the  wayfarers 
consisted  mainly  of  emigrants  to  the  still  farther 


A  REGULAR  BOARDER.  33 

West.     One  that  paid  board  regularly  week  by 
week  in  cash  was  a  treasure  not  to  be  lightly  es 
teemed.    Button's  had  never  had  a  guest  of  such 
importance  before,  and  might  never  have  another. 
The  stranger  stayed  until  the  weeks  grew  into 
months,  and  she  became  familiarly  known  in  the 
neighborhood  as  "the  rich  woman  at  Button's." 
Her  name  was  Evans :  Mrs.  Matilda  E.  Evans 
was  the  address  of  the  letters  she  received  during 
her  stay.     She  was  young,   certainly  not   more 
than  twenty-five,  unusually  attractive  in  appear 
ance,   but  evidently  oppressed   by    some   great 
sorrow  or  recent   calamity,  which  gave  to  her 
manner   a   reserve    not    altogether   in   keeping 
with  a  sprightly  temperament,  youth,  and  health. 
She  made  no  acquaintances,  but  occupied  her 
self  in  reading,  embroidery,  and  rambling  about 
the  hills  and  the  glen  with  the  boy,  to  whom  she 
seemed  passionately  devoted.     Why  she  should 
tarry  so  long  upon  her  journey,  when  she  would 
resume  it,  or  whither  it  would  lead,  —  of  these 
things  nobody  was  any  wiser  than  on  the  night 
she  came. 

For  a  time  there  was  some  attempt  on  the 

part  of  the  neighbors  to  penetrate  this  reserve. 

The  kindliest  community  is  somewhat  inclined 

to  resent  the  idea  of  concealment  on  the  part  of 

3 


34  BUTTON'S  INN. 

one  of  its  members.  They  may  object  to  garru 
lous  reminiscence  in  regard  to  the  past  of  a  new 
comer,  but  silence  as  to  one's  antecedents  is  a 
far  graver  offence.  Of  this  fact  the  rich  lady  at 
the  Inn  seemed  to  be  entirely  indifferent.  Hints 
were  wasted  on  her.  Of  what  lay  before  her  or 
what  behind  in  the  path  of  life  she  said  nothing. 
Of  origin  or  destination  she  gave  no  clew ; 
nor  did  she  explain  why  she  loitered  at  the 
sightly  Inn  during  all  the  pleasant  autumn  days, 
nor  give  any  hint  when  she  would  resume  her 
journey.  In  short,  she  treated  the  good  people 
of  the  region  as  if  it  were  none  of  their  business 
why  she  came  among  them  or  how  long  she  re 
mained.  So  they  said  ill-natured  things  about 
her,  —  her  and  the  toddling  boy  over  whom  she 
watched  so  tenderly.  But  she  did  not  hear  what 
they  said  ;  and  if  she  guessed  their  innuendoes 
she  gave  no  sign.  The  people  of  the  Inn  were 
naturally  proud  of  a  guest  of  such  wealth  and 
refinement.  She  reflected  credit  on  the  hostel ; 
therefore  the  landlord  fought  her  battles  for  her, 
and  such  was  his  prowess  that  no  one  dared  to 
speak  lightly  of  the  Inn's  strange  guest  in  his 
presence. 

There    was   one   influence,  however,    against 
which  the  landlord's  championship  would  have 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  35 

been  in  vain,  had  it  not  been  seconded  by  the 
unqualified  approval  of  his  wife.  The  land 
lady  became  greatly  attached  to  her  guest,  and 
spent  much  of  her  leisure  in  listening  while  the 
stranger  read  from  books  she  had  brought  with 
her,  or  in  learning  those  niceties  of  needle-work 
which  were  quite  unknown  in  that  region.  The 
landlady  had  a  baby  girl,  which  as  the  weather 
grew  colder  passed  much  of  the  time  in  the 
guest's  room  playing  with  the  boy,  and  the  two 
women  were  drawn  unconsciously  nearer  to  each 
other  by  the  mutual  fondness  of  the  children. 
So  the  landlord's  wife  joined  him  in  sounding 
the  praises  of  their  guest,  and  her  approval  ef 
fected  what  his  defiant  championship  could  not. 
For  the  landlord  and  his  wife  were  noted  far 
and  wide  as  a  strangely  contrasted  pair.  Each 
represented  a  distinctive  element  of  the  life 
which  grew  up  on  the  verge  of  that  great  tide 
which  was  rushing  westward  to  possess  the 
continent.  Each  was  the  complement  of  the 
other  in  this  respect.  Many  wondered  that  they 
should  ever  have  come  together.  It  was  gener 
ally  agreed,  however,  that  it  was  but  another 
instance  of  the  attraction  of  dissimilars  which 
has  been  the  ever  inexplicable  problem  of  love 
since  the  world  began.  In  truth  the  marriage 


36  BUTTON'S  INN. 

of  Lonny  Button  and  Liicy  Rigdon  was  explain 
able  on  no  other  hypothesis.  What  she  was  he 
was  not ;  and  that  was  the  end  of  speculation. 

Lonny  Button,  at  the  time  of  which  we  write, 
was  in  the  prime  of  life,  —  a  handsome  man, 
somewhat  given  to  boasting  when  in  his  cups, 
but  very  popular  in  the  neighborhood  as  well  as 
among  the  patrons  of  the  Inn.  He  had  come 
into  possession,  on  his  father's  death,  of  the 
property  known  even  then  as  "  Button's  Inn," 
though  hardly  possessing  the  character  of  a 
hostel,  few  travellers  passing  that  way,  and  those 
of  the  roughest  and  sturdiest  character.  These 
were  mainly  trappers  and  traders,  with  a  sprink 
ling  of  backwoodsmen  and  adventurers  of  all 
sorts,  who  were  inspired  with  a  restless  desire 
to  see  what  opportunities  the  yet  unexplored 
region  which  lay  beyond  might  offer.  Such  as 
came  always  found  entertainment,  for  which 
they  paid  or  not  as  they  chose,  the  host  count 
ing  the  privilege  of  their  society  worth  quite 
as  much  as  the  rude  fare  he  furnished. 

So  it  was  in  the  days  of  L'Honnete,  and 
afterward  in  the  time  of  Achille.  When  Lonny 
came  to  early  manhood,  and  the  house  was  made 
desolate  by  the  death  of  his  mother,  the  tide  of 
New  England  life  was  beginning  to  force  itself 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  37 

through  the  fair  domain  known  now  as  the  Em 
pire  State,  in  search  of  an  outlet  to  that  West 
the  greatness  of  which  it  instinctively  but  dimly 
discerned.  The  only  road  to  it  up  to  that  time 
led  across  the  Alleghanies  and  down  the  val 
ley  of  the  Ohio.  Along  this  had  come  the 
pioneers  of  the  Ohio  Company  under  the  lead 
of  the  quaintly  pedantic  surveyor  Gist,  bringing 
.a  strangely  commingled  tide  of  Northern  and 
Southern  migration  to  the  banks  of  the  Miami, 
and  founding  there  the  empire  of  the  great  new 
West.  But  the  land  of  Penn,  with  its  curious 
masses  of  unassimilated  and  uncommingling 
foreign  life,  intervened.  So  the  Yankees,  with 
their  restless  occidental  yearning,  were  swarm 
ing  over  the  narrow  belt  which  the  Dutchman 
had  preoccupied,  and  rushing  toward  the  Great 
Lakes,  blazing  the  pathway  of  destiny,  —  seiz 
ing  only  the  points  of  most  abundant  promise, 
and  hurrying  past  each  other  in  the  hope  of  yet 
more  abundant  opportunities.  The  wilderness 
was  being  dotted  with  homes,  and  a  few  had 
already  fixed  their  habitations  on  the  borders 
of  that  inland  sea  for  whose  defence  the  sailors 
of  New  England  were  a  score  of  years  afterward 
to  unite  with  the  few  frontiersmen  in  redoubt 
able  conflict. 


38  BUTTON'S  INN. 

Lon  Button  had  the  virtues  and  vices  of  the 
border.  Like  his  father,  and  his  father's  father, 
he  was  brave,  open-handed,  and  even  in  his 
youth  a  woodman  of  repute.  Of  the  amenities 
and  refinements  of  life  he  knew  little.  Full  of 
rude  force,  he  seemed  exactly  fitted  to  become 
one  of  those  social  bowlders  which  the  restless 
glacier  of  civilization  projects  beyond  its  farthest 
edge,  only  to  overtake  and  overwhelm  by  its 
slow  but  sure  approach.  From  this  apparently 
predestined  fate  he  was  saved  by  marriage. 

Lucy  Rigdon,  his  wife,  was  the  daughter  of  a 
family  who  had  come  from  the  East  and  settled 
on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  a  hundred  miles  almost 
to  the  eastward.  The  family  were  religious  en 
thusiasts  of  great  austerity,  and  she  herself  was 
of  such  correct  and  saintly  demeanor  as  to  have 
deterred  the  young  men  of  the  region  from  any 
attempt  at  love-making,  though  she  was  confes 
sedly  the  fairest  girl  in  the  settlement.  Lonny 
Button  came,  saw,  and  not  only  conquered  but 
captured  and  carried  her  away  to  become  the 
mistress  of  the  Inn  when  the  tide  of  westward 
travel  began  to  flow  past  its  threshold,  and  it 
really  became  an  inn.  Of  course,  her  family  pre 
dicted  for  her  the  most  dolorous  destiny  if  she 
should  mate  with  one  who  not  only  had  the  rough 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  39 

manners  of  the  frontier,  but  was  without  a  family 
tree,  and  presumably  inherited  papistical  inclina 
tions.  They  were  especially  fearful  of  peril  to 
the- purity  of  her  faith.  But  nothing  could  shake 
her  determination  ;  and  the  little  craft  which 
Lonny  Button  had  built  to  take  his  peltries  to 
the  newly-established  trading-post,  carried  back 
a  far  more  precious  freight  than  he  had  antici 
pated.  Perhaps  she  felt  a  call  to  undertake  his 
reclamation.  Perhaps  the  picture  he  drew  of 
the  romantic  beauty  of  a  situation  which  half  a 
century  of  occupancy  had  done  much  to  im 
prove,  may  have  had  its  influence  in  inducing 
her  to  abandon  the  bleak  discomfort  of  her 
father's  over-crowded  cabin. 

The  rough  backwoodsman  was  not  exactly  a 
model  husband  in  the  modern  acceptance  of  the 
term  ;  but  he  was  all  the  more  amenable  to  his 
young  wife's  influence  because  of  the  memory 
of  his  mother,  the  fair-haired  captive  who  after 
the  murderous  Wyoming  massacre  had  found  her 
way  to  his  father's  hut.  She  had  been  a  gentle 
woman,  and,  despite  her  misfortunes,  never  for 
got  the  fact.  She  was  not  ungrateful  to  the 
sturdy  trapper  for  the  kindness  which  had  pre 
served  her  life,  and  by  her  patience  and  ten 
derness  came  at  length  to  exercise  unlimited 


40  BUTTON'S  INN. 

control  over  the  husband  whom  fate  had  so 
curiously  provided.  That  she  should  long  for 
her  land  and  people  was  natural  enough.  She 
had  filled  her  son's  mind  with  pleasant  pictures 
of  the  clustered  homes  in  the  valley  of  the  Con 
necticut,  and  taught  him  the  little  she  could 
recall  of  what  she  herself  had  learned.  Her 
language  and  her  religion  became  the  language 
and  religion  of  the  household ;  and  her  son,  de 
spite  his  inheritance  of  adventurous  inclination, 
was  ambitious  most  of  all  things  for  the  civiliza 
tion  and  comforts  of  that  "  East/'  which  was  to 
him  the  land  beautiful  and  delectable.  Perhaps 
it  was  some  resemblance  to  his  mother  that 
had  so  powerfully  attracted  Lonny  to  the  fair 
and  gentle  Lucy  Rigdon.  At  all  events,  her 
advent  seemed  but  the  continuation  of  a  rule 
which  death  had  interrupted,  and  destroyed 
the  last  lingering  tendency  on  the  part  of 
L'Honnete  Boutonne's  descendant  to  abandon 
the  picturesque  settlement  his  grandfather  had 
made  upon  the  sightly  hillside  for  the  charms  of 
a  wilder  and  more  remote  region.  It  was  not  in 
vain  that  two  generations  of  Puritan  blood  had 
mingled  with  the  dark  drops  in  the  veins  of  the 
rugged  Canadian.  Little  by  little  the  patois 
of  the  trapper  had  disappeared.  That  sense  of 


A  REGULAR  BOARDER.  41 

domesticity  which  seems  inseparable  in  English 
natures  from  comfort  and  cosiness  of  surround 
ings  had  from  the  very  first  been  at  work  upon 
the  little  clearing.  The  apple-blossoms  mingled 
with  the  thorn  and  the  wild-cherry  in  the  edge 
of  the  forest  before  Lonny  was  born  ;  and  before 
he  had  arrived  at  manhood  peaches  and  plums 
were  fruiting  in  lavish  abundance  along  the 
sides  of  the  old  portage.  It  was  to  this  home 
that  Lonny  Button  brought  the  slender,  blue- 
eyed,  New  England  girl  whom  he  had  won  for 
his  bride.  From  that  first  hour  when  entering 
its  rude  doorway  she  had  knelt  and  prayed, 
"Peace  be  within  these  walls!"  she  had  been 
its  ruling  spirit.  Her  husband  renounced  the 
habits  as  well  as  the  language  of  his  father's 
people.  Though  he  remained  a  leader  among 
the  boisterous  spirits  of  the  region,  his  pride 
centred  in  his  home  and  its  constantly  increas 
ing  comfort  and  attractiveness.  When,  there 
fore,  his  wife  suggested  that  the  little  schooner 
he  had  built  —  the  first  of  the  great  fleet  which 
the  demand  of  our  inland  traffic  has  brought 
into  existence  on  the  Lakes  —  should  be  sold, 
and  the  proceeds  used  to  enlarge  and  improve 
the  old  block-house,  and  establish  at  Button's  a 
regular  inn  where  the  wayfarer's  needs  should 


42  . BUTTON'S  INN. 

be  supplied  for  a  specific  sum,  instead  of  leaving 
the  amount  to  the  traveller's  option,  it  met  his 
instant  and  hearty  approval. 

It  was  a  wise  suggestion  from  every  point  of 
view.  It  met  an  actual  demand.  The  tide  of 
Western  travel  needed  just  such  a  hostel.  It 
was  in  a  line,  too,  with  Lonny  Button's  best 
aspirations.  The  mixture  of  blood  in  his  veins 
did  not  fit  him  for  a  husbandman.  Strong  as 
he  was,  and  proud  of  his  home  as  he  was,  he 
had  no  love  for  the  laborious  task  of  developing 
its  charms.  All  he  could  acquire  he  delighted 
to  expend  in  its  improvement ;  but  the  instincts 
of  the  Voyageur  were  too  strong  to  allow  him  to 
be  content  with  a  farmer's  life.  The  toils  of  the 
hunter,  the  danger  of  the  sailor,  —  these  were 
nothing  to  him.  Few  men  were  his  equal  with 
the  axe,  yet  little  'of  the  clearing  at  Button's 
was  due  to  the  labor  of  his  hands.  It  had 
grown  each  year,  and  he  was  proud  of  its  extent 
and  neatness  ;  but  its  improvement  was  mainly 
due  to  the  thrift  and  prudence  of  his  wife, 
whose  care  had  brought  order  and  beauty  out 
of  confusion. 

The  establishment  of  an  Inn,  however,  was 
an  enterprise  exactly  suited  to  his  talents.  He 
knew  that  his  good  nature  sometimes  led  him 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  43 

too  far  in  the  company  of  boon  companions,  and 
his  open-handed  generosity  needed  the  restraint 
of  his  wife's  foresight  and  frugality.  The  re 
sult,  as  his  wife  foresaw,  was  that  he  was  at 
once  re-moved  from  temptation  and  given  an 
occupation  for  which  he  was  peculiarly  fitted. 
So  Lonny  Button  became  the  model  landlord  of 
that  region  in  his  day  and  time;  and  with  the 
aid  of  his  wife's  excellence  as  a  housekeeper  and 
her  general  administrative  capacity,  Button's  be 
came  the  favorite  hostel  on  the  great  highway 
where  it  was  situated.  He  gave  it  popularity, 
and  she  that  air  of  comfort  and  eminent  re 
spectability  which  brought  it  favor  in  the  eyes 
of  every  home-sick  woman  and  broken-hearted 
man  who,  faring  westward  under  the  spur  of 
misfortune,  was  worn  out  not  only  by  the  hard 
ships  of  the  journey,  but  by  the  coarseness  and 
vulgarity  of  the  associations  of  the  road. 

Thus  the  Inn  became  prosperous ;  grew  year 
by  year  in  extent,  comfort,  and  convenience;  the 
renown  of  the  landlord's  good  nature  extended, 
and  the  comely  hostess  became  a  pleasant  mem 
ory  of  a  journey  whose  irksomeness  it  is  now 
difficult  to  imagine.  The  bill  of  fare  was  not 
varied  as  judged  by  modern  standards,  but  of 
the  excellence  of  what  appeared  upon  the  board 


44  BUTTON'S  INN. 

at  Button's  there  could  be  no  doubt  ;  and  how 
ever  rollicking  the  company  that  gathered  in  the 
public-room,  there  was  none  that  did  not  bow 
in  reverence  when  the  gentle  hostess  stand 
ing  at  the  head  of  the  table  looked  quietly 
up  and  down  it  until  all  were  silent,  and  then 
merely  saying, "  Let  us  thank  God  for  His  mer 
cies,"  dropped  her  eyes  and  murmured  a  half- 
inaudible  grace. 

Lon  Button  was  no  saint,  but  the  man  would 
have  had  to  answer  to  him  vi  et  armis  who  had 
dared  to  breathe  aloud  during  this  one  devo 
tional  act  that  was  never  intermitted  at  the  Inn. 
He  did  not  say  Amen,  nor  pretend  to  any  part 
nership  in  his  wife's  devotions,  but  he  was  proud 
of  the  inflexible  spirit  she  displayed,  and  liked 
especially  to  hear  her  praised  as  a  "  religious 
woman."  So  their  lives  flowed  peacefully  on, — 
not  exactly  harmoniously,  since  she  never  came 
to  like  the  jolly  company  he  affected,  and  he 
showed  no  inclination  for  the  religious  associa 
tions  she  so  highly  prized.  The  hostel  became 
at  once  the  home  of  the  sturdy  circuit-riders,  — 
those  knights  of  the  cross  and  saddle-bags, — 
who  harmonized  alike  with  the  religious  enthu 
siasm  of  the  wife  and  the  careless  bonhomie  of 
the  landlord.  They  were  noted  throughout  the 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  45 

country  as  a  queerly  mated  but  unquestionably 
loving  and  devoted  pair. 

This  state  of  affairs  continued  until  their  son 
Jack  reached  early  manhood,  —  or  rather  the  pe 
riod  when  in  those  days  the  young  man  began  to 
dream  of  self-direction  and  independent  achieve 
ment.  Jack  was  the  picture  of  his  father,  who 
was  naturally  proud  of  his  comeliness,  vivacity, 
and  strength.  He  was  a  wilful  lad,  and  even 
before  he  had  grown  to  man's  estate  had  taken 
to  wild  ways.  The  adventurous  spirit  of  the 
Voyageur  cropped  out  in  him  with  renewed 
strength.  His  mother  wept  and  prayed  ;  his 
father  laughed  and  chided.  Secretly  he  exulted 
in  his  son's  escapades,  having  no  wish  that  he 
should  grow  up  a  milksop,  as  he  thought  his 
mother's  teachings  likely  to  incline  him  to  do. 
When  they  became  too  serious  he  stormed  and 
threatened.  The  high-spirited  boy,  fretted  by 
his  mother's  tears 'and  chafed  by  his  father's 
threats,  fled  to  that  Mecca  of  the  adventurous 
youth  of  that  day, —  the  Lake. 

The  innkeeper,  sympathizing  with  his  son's 
unrest,  in  order  that  his  inclination  might  be 
gratified  without  any  loss  of  self-respect  or 
lowering  of  the  family  pride  bought  an  interest 
in  a  fine  brig.  On  this  the  lad  embarked,  nomi- 


46  BUTTON'S  INN. 

nally  as  a  deck-hand,  but  with  that  real  sense  of 
rank  which  always  attaches  to  ownership.  On 
her  first  voyage  she  was  seized  by  the  Govern 
ment  officials,  —  or  rather  the  crew  volunteered 
to  serve  under  Perry,  and  took  the  vessel  with 
them.  After  the  fight  at  Put-in-Bay  she  was 
burned,  having  been  rendered  useless  by  the  hot 
engagement,  and  her  crew  returned  home  with 
only  the  reputation  of  heroic  conduct  to  recom 
pense  them  for  their  loss.  The  Government  did, 
indeed,  profess  an  intention  to  pay  them  both 
for  their  craft  and  their  services  ;  but  the  time 
never  came  when  the  sense  of  gratitude  for  fa 
vors  rendered  was  strong  enough  in  the  Repub 
lic  to  induce  the  representatives  of  the  people, 
who  are  the  guardians  of  the  national  honor,  to 
appropriate  money  for  such  a  purpose.  The 
time  came  indeed  when  it  was  deemed  an  im 
pertinence  to  claim  compensation  for  such  loss, 
one  of  the  most  patriotic  of  our  statesmen  de 
claring  it  to  be  absurd,  because  "  the  British 
would  have  destroyed  these  vessels  if  they  had 
not  been  overcome,  and  the  owner's  loss  would 
have  been  just  as  great  if  they  had  not  volun 
teered  in  the  public  defence."  This  reason  does 
not  seem  exactly  conclusive,  but  it  served  its 
purpose. 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  47 

Jack  had  borne  himself  gallantly  in  the  fight, 
but  the  reputation  of  being  a  hero  was  more 
than  he  could  bear.  No  life  but  one  of  constant 
change  and  adventure  could  satisfy  him  after 
ward.  He  was  now  past  twenty,  handsome, 
strong,  and  daring,  —  following  the  Lake  during 
the  summer  and  lounging  on  shore  during  the 
winter,  when  he  made  the  Inn  his  headquarters. 
More  than  once  he  had  caused  serious  drain 
upon  the  purse  and  patience  of  his  parents  to 
save  him  from  disgrace.  This  son  —  the  idol  of 
both  —  thus  brought  about  a  curious  estrange 
ment  between  the  landlord  and  his  wife.  The 
landlord  blamed  his  wife's  religious  zeal  for  his 
son's  excesses,  and  insisted  that  her  prayers 
had  "  sent  the  boy  to  the  devil."  She  felt  the 
sting  of  conscience  for  having  permitted  her 
love  to  lead  her  to  violate  the  divine  command, 
"  Be  not  unequally  yoked  with  unbelievers." 
Her  son's  waywardness  she  looked  upon  as  a 
punishment  for  this  sin,  —  a  sin  which  could 
be  condoned  only  by  the  reclamation  of  both 
their  lives.  This  task  she  felt  had  been  laid 
upon  her  shoulders  ;  and  from  that  moment  she 
had  but  one  aim  in  life,  —  the  conversion  of 
her  husband  and  her  son.  Gentle  as  was  her 
character,  she  was  not  one  to  shrink  from  any 


48  BUTTON'S  INN. 

divinely  imposed  duty.  She  remonstrated  con 
stantly  with  her  husband  for  humoring  the  boy's 
inclinations  and  making  light  of  his  excesses  ; 
charged  him  with  the  ruin  of  their  son's  life  and 
hopes  of  salvation  ;  endured  patiently  and  un 
complainingly  his  recriminations,  and  saw  him 
taking  to  coarser  ways  and  yielding  to  dissolute 
inclinations  with  inexpressible  grief,  but  with 
out  any  thought  of  modifying  her  own  conduct. 
She  "had  taken  up  her  cross,"  as  she  phrased 
it  to  herself,  conscious  of  rectitude  and  anxious 
only  to  do  her  full  duty. 

Thus  the  life  of  the  Inn  went  on  without  open 
discord,  but  with  a  singular  change  which  the 
accustomed  wayfarer  could  not  but  perceive. 
As  Hawk  Button  grew  more  careless  and  dis 
sipated,  his  wife  became  even  more  zealous  and 
exemplary.  The  son's  irregularities  enhanced  the 
father's  wrath  and  increased  the  mother's  solici 
tude.  He  returned  to  the  Inn  this  year  as  usual, 
at  the  close  of  navigation  on  the  Lake.  Soon 
afterward,  stories  began  to  circulate  in  the  neigh 
borhood  reflecting  on  the  character  of  the  guest 
at  the  Inn.  It  was  intimated  that  she  permitted 
Jack  Button  to  pay  her  attentions  inconsistent 
with  the  position  of  a  married  woman.  That 
the  young  man  was  greatly  attracted  toward 


A  REGULAR  BOARDER.  49 

the  fair  lady  there  could  be  no  doubt ;  he  seized 
every  pretext  to  serve  her,  and  haunted  his 
mother's  room  as  he  had  never  done  before, 
with  the  express  purpose,  so  the  uncharitable 
said,  of  meeting  there  the  fascinating  stranger 
of  inscrutable  antecedents.  The  son's  return 
somewhat  enlivened  the  domestic  life  of  the 
Inn.  Despite  his  irregularities,  and  the  father's 
consequent  wrath  and  harshness,  Jack  was  still 
the  idol  of  his  parents,  and  his  presence  for  a 
time  seemed  to  lessen  the  distance  between 
them.  Mrs.  Evans  appeared  to  share  in  this 
added  cheerfulness,  and  no  doubt  relished  to  a 
certain  extent  the  presence  of  the  handsome 
young  sailor,  whose  admiration  seemed  to  her 
only  respectful  courtesy.  It  was  remarked  that 
she  was  gayer  than  before,  laughed  oftener,  was 
less  inclined  to  solitude,  paid  more  attention  to 
dress,  and  in  short  was  quite  changed  in  ap 
pearance  and  manner. 

She  began  to  go  into  -society  too,  —  if  one 
may  be  allowed  to  speak  of  society  in  such  a 
rustic  neighborhood.  Before  this  she  had  never 
visited  any  of  the  neighbors,  and  indeed  had 
hardly  been  out  of  sight  of  the  Inn  except  to 
attend  preaching  once  or  twice  with  the  land 
lady.  Soon  after  Jack's  return  she  went  with 

4 


50  BUTTON'S  INN. 

him  and  his  mother  to  a  husking-frolic  at  a 
neighbor's  house.  She  had  never  seen  one 
before,  and  evidently  enjoyed  the  rude  mirth 
not  a  little,  though  she  took  no  part  in  the 
games,  refusing  Jack's  repeated  solicitations 
with  quiet  but  inoffensive  decision.  That  Jack's 
attentions  were  very  marked  was  evident  to  all 
except  the  lady  herself  and  his  mother.  The 
former,  unused  as  she  was  to  rustic  ways,  was 
quite  unconscious  of  the  interpretation  given  to 
what  she  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  as 
only  ordinary  civilities,  while  the  mother  was 
too  glad  to  have  her  son  at  home  once  more 
and  conducting  himself  with  something  like 
propriety,  to  think  of  criticising  anything  he 
did.  As  for  Jack  himself,  the  very  fact  that 
he  was  less  riotous  and  dissipated  than  usual 
after  his  summer's  absence,  was  cited  by  the 
gossips  as  infallible  testimony  of  his  infatuation 
for  the  stranger,  who  was  justly  regarded  as  of 
all  the  more  questionable  character  because 
she  so  far  outshone  the  rustic  beauties  of  the 
neighborhood. 

So  it  was  that  the  report  went  out  that  "the 
rich  woman  at  the  Inn "  was  "  carrying  on 
scandalously  with  Jack  Button."  It  was  even 
whispered  around  that  since  his  return  she  was 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  51 

always  to  be  seen  clad  in  silk  and  wearing 
jewels  worth  a  fabulous  amount,  standing  at 
the  lighted  window  of  her  room  and  watching 
eagerly  the  arrival  of  the  stage,  —  a  thing  she 
had  never  done  before.  It  was  noted,  too,  that 
the  stage  generally  brought  Jack  Button  from 
the  harbor,  where  he  usually  went  on  the  day 
it  made  its  weekly  trip.  These  two  facts  were 
linked  together  greatly  to  the  discredit  of  one 
whom  scandal  pursued  all  the  more  malignantly 
because  it  found  so  little  that  was  blameworthy 
in  her  life,  —  whose  chief  offence,  indeed,  lay  in 
the  fact  that  she  did  not  afford  more  substantial 
food  for  gossip. 

The  friendship  of  the  exemplary  landlady,  as 
well  as  the  stranger's  devotion  to  her  child 
and  the  quiet  reserve  that  marked  her  conduct, 
should  have  been  a  sufficient  answer  to  any 
such  imputations.  But  the  fact  that  she  was 
supposed  to  be  rich,  sought  no  society  and 
bestowed  no  confidences,  was  in  itself  hardly 
less  than  a  crime  in  a  community  quick  to 
resent  even  an  implied  assumption  of  superior 
ity,  and  not  slow  to  punish  any  departure  from 
its  established  customs. 

Of  the  letters  the  lady  received  during  her 
stay  at  the  Inn,  one  arrived  some  time  in  No- 


52  BUTTON'S  INN. 

vember ;  the  other  was  brought  by  the  stage- 
driver  on  Christmas  Eve.  It  was  handed  to 
him  by  the  postmaster  at  the  harbor,  where  it 
had  been  mailed  the  day  before.  Jack  Button 
came  up  in  the  stage  that  night  as  usual, 
and  Mrs.  Evans  was  standing  in  the  door  of 
the  public-room  awaiting  its  arrival.  It  was 
observed  that  she  was  dressed  with  unusual 
elegance,  her  rich  chestnut  hair  twisted  in  a 
superb  coil  about  her  head,  the  clear  white  skin 
suffused  with  tender  blushes,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  the  dewy  radiance  of  unmistakable  expec 
tancy.  She  scanned  the  passengers  who  alighted 
one  by  one,  as  the  glare  from  the  stage- 
lanterns  and  the  windows  of  the  Inn  fell  upon 
them. 

The  snow  was  falling  rapidly,  and  the  driver 
was  anxious  to  press  on  before  his  way  was 
blocked.  It  was  the  first  heavy  storm  of  the 
season,  and  the  stage  was  yet  on  wheels.  The 
horses  smoked  after  the  heavy  pull  up  the 
hill,  the  rising  vapor  from  their  heated  flanks 
mingling  with  the  white  flakes  that  fell  silently 
and  steadily,  giving  a  peculiar  softness  to  the 
light  which  could  scarcely  penetrate  the  floccu- 
lent  mass.  Jack  Button  was  the  last  to  emerge 
from  the  snow-laden  vehicle.  As  he  came  up 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  53 

the  steps  it  was  noted  that  he  stopped  and 
gazed  as  if  spell-bound  at  the  beautiful  vision 
on  the  threshold  of  the  public-room.  There  was 
no  postoffice  at  the  Inn;  but  the  stage-driver 
was  accustomed  to  bring  mail  from  the  near 
est  offices  on  either  side  for  persons  living 
in  the  vicinity,  and  leave  it  in  the  landlord's 
care. 

"Are  there  any  more?"  asked  the  lodger, 
eagerly,  after  Jack  had  alighted.  Her  tone  was 
cheerful,  though  not  without  a  shade  of  appre 
hension. 

"No  more,"  said  the  landlord,  coming  back 
from  a  conversation  with  the  driver,  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand.  He  held  it  up  to  the  candle-light 
shining  through  the  windows  as  he  came  upon 
the  porch,  and  added,  after  an  instant's  pause 
for  deciphering  its  address,  "  But  here  's  a  letter 
for  you,  Mrs.  Evans." 

She  reached  out  her  hand  and  took  it,  mak 
ing  some  inquiry  about  the  postage,  at  that 
time  always  paid  by  the  receiver,  then  turned 
slowly  away  and  went  up  the  stairs  to  her  room. 
There  was  evident  disappointment  in  her  man 
ner.  She  did  not  speak  to  Jack,  who,  it  was 
afterwards  remembered,  stood  silently  gazing  at 
her  until  she  disappeared,  then  turned  away 


54  BUTTONS  INN. 

with  a  sigh,  and  went  to  his  mother's  room,  as 
the  stage  drove  off  into  the  maze  of  falling 
flakes. 

In  addition  to  three  passengers  who  came 
by  the  stage,  there  was  quite  a  company  gath 
ered  that  night  at  Button's.  Such  comfortable 
lodgment  was  rare  in  the  sparsely-settled  region 
where  it  stood,  and  many  wayfarers  in  those 
days  objected  to  travelling  on  Sunday.  The 
fair  lodger  was  the  subject  of  much  remark 
among  the  boisterous  company  around  the  fire 
in  the  public-room  that  night.  A  half-hour 
after  the  stage  had  passed,  Jack  Button  went 
hastily  through  the  room,  opened  the  door  by 
the  side  of  the  chimney,  and  climbed  the  nar 
row  stairs  to  the  room  above.  On  his  return  he 
growled  a  fierce  reply  to  some  rude  jest  touch 
ing  the  stranger,  and  went  out,  banging  the 
door  behind  him. 

The  next  morning  the  snow  lay  heaped  in 
dense  masses  upon  the  hills.  The  wind  had 
risen  during  the  night,  and  the  roads  were 
not  only  impassable  but  indistinguishable  in 
the  white  expanse.  The  drifts  had  hidden  the 
fences,  save  here  and  there  where  the  "locks" 
and  "riders"  rose  above  the  rounded  hillocks 
that  marked  their  courses.  The  line  of  hem- 


A   REGULAR  BOARDER.  55 

locks  showed  dark  and  pitiless  across  the  frozen 
waste.  The  weather  was  intensely  cold.  The 
wind  blew  steadily,  carrying  little  clouds  of 
frozen  particles  along  the  white-rifted  surface, 
dropping  them  in  the  lee  of  every  bush,  and 
scattering  them  through  every  crevice  of  the 
Inn.  The  snow  was  dry  and  light,  creaking 
under  the  feet,  and  choking  the  way  like  heaped- 
up  sand.  The  landscape  was  covered  with  dim 
shadowy  forms  that  flitted  along  the  snowy 
crests  like  vengeful  frost-sprites,  seeking  every 
where  for"  something  warm  and  living  which 
they  might  slay  and  swathe  in  icy  cerements. 
It  was  the  very  type  of  relentless  death,  —  the 
cold  cruel  wind,  the  flying  frozen  scud,  the 
chill  lifeless  sunshine,  unclouded,  but  bringing 
no  hint  of  warmth,  and  the  white,  sparkling, 
ever-shifting  shroud  that  covered  the  earth's 
frozen  bosom. 

At  the  Inn  the  frostwork  was  thick  upon  the 
panes,  the  fires  roared  in  the  great  chimneys, 
but  the  paths  were  uncut,  and  the  day  was  well 
advanced  before  the  snow  was  cleared  from  the 
porch.  There  were  blanched  faces  at  the  win 
dows,  and  people  spoke  in  whispers,  looking 
round  suspiciously  as  they  talked.  The  cold 
seemed  to  have  frozen  everything  like  mirth. 


56  BUTTON'S  INN. 

They  even  forgot  that  it  was  Christmas  Day, 
and  no  one  gave  his  fellow  the  customary 
greeting  of  the  season.  Men  shivered  around 
the  glowing  fire.  Button's  Inn  had  entered 
upon  an  epoch  of  mystery  and  misfortune. 


A  VACANT   CHAMBER. 

IT  was  late  before  the  people  of  the  Inn  were 
astir  that  morning.  Both  the  storm  and 
the  fact  that  it  was  the  day  of  rest  tended  to 
produce  this  result.  Travellers  were  usually 
weary  in  those  days  and  liked  a  late  breakfast 
on  Sunday,  making  but  short  journeys  if  they 
travelled  at  all.  The  storm  had  put  even  such 
journeying  out  of  the  question,  however.  So 
host  and  guests  slept  late. 

The  landlady's  first  thought  was  of  the  guest 
in  the  room  above  the  public.  She  knew  the 
chamber  had  been  exposed  to  the  full  force  of 
the  storm,  and  she  had  thought  of  its  occupant 
more  than  once  when  she  waked  in  the  night. 
As  soon  as  she  had  seen  that  the  hired  girl  had 
the  breakfast  properly  under  way  she  went  up 
to  her  guest's  room,  thinking  she  would  wish 
her  a  "  Merry  Christmas  "  and  start  the  fire 
for  her,  the  weather  being  so  unusually  se 
vere.  Such  a  thing  as  providing  a  fire  in  a 


58  BUTTON'S  INN. 

guest's  room  was  almost  unheard  of  in  a  way 
side  inn  at  that  time  ;  and  it  was  only  the  ac 
cident  of  the  old  block-house  and  the  result 
of  its  transformation  into  an  inn  that  made 
such  a  luxury  possible  in  the  strange  lady's 
chamber. 

The  landlady  went  through  the  public-room, 
where  three  or  four  men  were  still  asleep  on 
buffalo  robes  before  the  fire,  and  climbed  the 
narrow  stair,  her  apron  full  of  fine-split  kind 
ling-wood  with  which  to  carry  into  effect  her 
charitable  purpose.  Reaching  the  landing  she 
knocked  upon  the  door,  and  then  tried  the  latch. 
Finding  the  door  locked  she  knocked  again,  and 
then  called  her  guest  by  name,  —  first  softly, 
and  then  louder,  —  but  received  no  answer.  De 
positing  the  kindlings  beside  the  door  she  ran 
down  the  stairs,  brushing  the  splinters  from  her 
clean  apron  as  she  did  so,  and  called  to  her 
husband.  Somehow  she  felt  afraid  to  remain  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs  ;  yet  there  was  nothing  to 
occasion  her  any  alarm,  —  nothing  but  silence. 
Returning  with  her  husband,  the  knocking  and 
calling  were  repeated.  Still  there  was  no  res 
ponse.  At  his  wife's  suggestion  Hawk  But 
ton  placed  his  shoulder  against  the  door,  and 
the  frail  casement  gave  way  as  if  it  had  been 


A    VACANT  CHAMBER.  59 

of  pasteboard  rather  than  of  staunch  pine.  He 
staggered  forward  as  it  fell  in,  but  at  once  shrank 
back  to  where  his  wife  stood  on  the  narrow  land 
ing.  They  entered  the  room  together.  There 
was  nothing  unusual  about  it  except  the  amaz 
ing  stillness.  There  were  little  spits  of  snow 
on  the  floor,  which  the  wind  had  sifted  through 
the  crevices  in  the  unplastered  wall,  and  one 
showed  white  and  chill  across  the  dark  coverlid. 
In  the  great  armchair,  her  face  to  the  window, 
one  hand  hanging  by  her  side  and  the  other 
lying  across  her  lap,  was  the  occupant  of  the 
room.  The  snow  heaped  up  on  the  window- 
ledge  was  not  whiter  than  her  face.  On  the 
stand  beside  the  bed  stood  an  iron  candlestick 
and  an  empty  vial.  The  candle  had  burned 
down  into  the  socket,  the  melted  tallow  running 
out  in  yellowish  waves  upon  the  white  polished 
surface  of  the  little  maple  table.  The  boy  was 
sleeping  peacefully. 

They  crossed  the  room  on  tiptoe.  The  land 
lady  picked  up  the  vial  and  read  on  it  the  word 
"laudanum."  She  set  it  down,  and  her  hus 
band  repeated  her  act.  Then  they  turned  and 
looked  at  the  occupant  of  the  chair.  Neither 
spoke.  The  woman  was  dressed  as  she  had 
been  the  night  before.  Her  hair  lay  half- 


60  BUTTON'S  INN. 

uncoiled  upon  her  shoulder.  The  dress  was 
open  at  the  throat,  and  unhooked  to  the  waist. 
One  sleeve  was  removed,  showing  the  bare 
shapely  arm,  with  the  narrow  white  band  at 
the  top.  The  warm-tinted  hair  veiled  the  white 
bosom.  The  landlady,  with  instinctive  modesty, 
took  a  scarf  that  hung  upon  a  chair  and  flung 
it  across  the  woman's  shoulders,  leaving  the  face 
uncovered.  The  eyes  were  closed  as  if  in  slum 
ber,  btit  she  shuddered  as  her  hand  brushed 
against  the  pallid  cheek.  There  had  been  no 
question  from  the  very  first  as  to  the  fact  of 
death. 

The  room  was  icy  cold.  The  landlady  spoke 
of  sending  for  a  doctor.  The  husband  shook  his 
head  ;  the  roads  were  impassable.  Both  knew 
it  would  be  useless  even  were  it  feasible.  The 
landlord  came  and  touched  the  hand  that  lay 
upon  the  woman's  lap  as  if  to  make  sure  of  his 
thought.  As  he  did  so  his  eyes  fell  upon  some 
thing  on  the  floor,  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  chair. 
He  drew  his  wife's  attention  to  it,  and  stooped 
to  pick  it  up.  She  called  to  him  to  let  it  lie,  but 
he  already  had  it  in  his  hand.  It  was  a  small 
red  morocco  pocketbook,  gilt-stamped,  and  hav 
ing  a  steel  clasp.  It  was  open.  A  roll  of  bills 
lay  beside  it  on  the  floor.  A  few  gold  and 


A    VACANT  CHAMBER.  6 1 

silver  pieces  showed  in  one  of  the  pockets, 
which  was  lined  with  leather.  The  landlord 
looked  at  it  covetously. 

"  You  had  better  put  it  back,  Lonny,"  said  the 
wife,  meaningly. 

"Do  you  think  I  mean  to  steal  it?"  he  retorted 
angrily. 

"  Some  one  else  might,"  she  replied  gently. 

"  I  guess  I  'm  the  landlord  here,"  he  pom 
pously  rejoined,  "and  it's  my  place  to  take  care 
of  this  money  till  somebody  comes  to  claim  it. 
It 's  more  than  likely  we  '11  need  some  of  it  for 
expenses,  anyhow." 

He  put  the  money  in  his  pocket  and  went 
down  the  stairs  with  much  show  of  offended  dig 
nity.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone  his  wife  looked 
eagerly  about  the  room.  Noticing  something  in 
the  hand  that  lay  across  the  woman's  lap,  she 
stooped  and  took  from  it  a  little  leather-covered 
case.  She  touched  a  spring  and  glanced  hastily 
at  the  contents.  At  the  same  moment  she 
heard  her  husband's  voice  in  the  room  below 
announcing  the  death  of  their  lodger.  Then 
came  footsteps  toward  the  stairs.  She  walked 
quickly  to  the  head  of  the  bed  and  dropped  the 
case  into  a  crevice  between  one  of  the  logs  and 
the  rough  "  chinking  "  that  half-filled  the  space 


62  BUTTON'S  INN: 

between  their  rounded  edges.  The  wind  had 
filled  this  space  with  light  particles  of  snow,  in 
which  the  case  sank  and  was  hidden.  When  her 
husband  returned  to  the  room  followed  by  sev 
eral  of  the  guests,  she  was  bending  over  the  bed 
seeking  to  arouse  the  sleeping  child.  After  a 
moment  she  took  him  in  her  arms  and  went 
down  the  stairs  to  her  own  room.  From  that 
moment  she  cared  for  him  as  tenderly  as  if  he 
had  been  her  own  child. 

Of  course  there  was  an  inquest,  and  of  course 
the  inquest  revealed  nothing  that  was  not  patent 
at  a  glance.  In  fact,  there  did  not  seem  to  be 
much  more  to  be  learned.  There  were  no  marks 
of  violence  and  no  trace  of  struggle.  The  door 
was  locked  upon  the  inside,  and  there  was  no 
other  means  of  ingress.  A  method  of  self-de 
struction  was  at  least  suggested,  and  there  was  no 
suspicion  of  foul  play.  The  physician  who  came 
from  the  county  seat,  in  attendance  upon  the 
coroner,  said  it  was  evident  that  death  had 
resulted  either  from  poison  administered  by 
the  deceased  herself  or  from  heart-disease ;  he 
was  inclined  to  the  latter  hypothesis.  He  did 
not  consider  an  autopsy  necessary,  and  frankly 
stated  that  even  if  he  should  make  one  he  would 
be  unable  to  distinguish  between  these  two 


A    VACANT  CHAMBER.  63 

causes.  Some  further  inquiry  was  made  rather 
to  satisfy  public  curiosity,  and  learn,  if  possible, 
the  residence  and  domestic  relations  of  the  de 
ceased,  than  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  the 
manner  of  her  death.  Then  the  rough  jurymen, 
having  viewed  tenderly  and  reverently  the  fair  re 
mains,  and  expressed  their  pity  for  the  bereaved 
boy,  duly  found  that  Mrs.  Matilda  E.  Evans, 
whose  residence  was  to  the  jurors  unknown,  had 
died  from  causes  to  the  jurors  likewise  un 
known.  So  the  verdict  stands  upon  the  record 
still.  Yet  people  shook  their  heads  over  what 
was  revealed,  and  puzzled  their  brains  over  what 
was  unexplained.  In  truth  there  was  little 
learned  by  the  inquest  which  was  not  already 
known  ;  and  that  little  was  very  far  from  being 
satisfactory  to  the  gossips  of  the  vicinity. 

A  passenger  who  stopped  at  the  Inn  remem 
bered  seeing  the  deceased  standing  at  the  win 
dow  of  her  room  as  the  stage  drove  up,  and 
finding  her  peering  into  his  face  as  he  stepped 
out  upon  the  porch.  She  seemed  -to  be  watch 
ing  for  some  one  to  arrive,  and  was  evidently 
disappointed  that  the  stage  brought  only  a  let 
ter.  She  had  said  nothing  to  indicate  such  a 
thing,  but  the  landlady  judged  that  she  expected 
her  husband.  The  change  in  her  demeanor  as 


64  BUTTON'S  INN. 

she  returned  to  her  room  was  so  apparent  as  to 
call  forth  a  remark  from  one  of  the  loungers  in 
the  public-room  in  reference  to  it. 

After  a  brief  conversation  with  his  mother, 
Jack  had  gone  to  the  room  of  the  strange 
lady,  and  remained  there  something  less  than 
half  an  hour.  No  one  about  the  Inn  had  seen 
him  since  he  passed  through  the  public-room 
after  leaving  her  chamber.  This  was  not  later 
than  seven  o'clock.  She  usually  sat  up  late, 
seldom  retiring  before  ten,  judging  from  the 
light  in  her  room.  Some  of  those  in  the  pub 
lic-room  thought  they  heard  her  walking  about 
at  a  very  late  hour  that  night.  Her  trunk  had 
been  moved  from  its  accustomed  place  against 
the  wall,  and  one  of  them  was  confident  that 
he  heard  it  dragged  over  the  floor  as  late  as 
ten  o'clock  at  least.  It  was  found  open  hardly 
an  arm's  length  from  the  chair  in  which  she 
sat.  Its  contents  had  evidently  been  recently 
overhauled,  but  without  haste.  The  clothes  and 
books  taken  from  it  were  neatly  piled  at  either 
end.  The  fly-leaves  had  been  torn  out  of  all 
the  books  but  one,  —  a  gilt-edged  copy  of  the 
New  Testament,  in  which  was  written:  "Ozro 
Evans,  born  Sept.  10,  1818.  From  his  mother." 
The  landlady  had  seen  enough  of  her  lodger's 


A    VACANT  CHAMBER.  6$ 

handwriting  to  enable  her  to  identify  this  in 
scription.     It  was  not  a  recent  entry. 

Though  the  deceased  was  dressed,  the  bed 
had  unquestionably  been  occupied.  It  was 
thought  she  might  have  opened  her  frock  and 
lain  down  beside  the  child  to  induce  him  to  go 
to  sleep,  she  herself  intending,  for  some  reason, 
to  rise  and  resume  her  clothing.  The  boy  had 
been  ailing  for  a  few  days,  and  his  mother 
had  given  him  medicine,  —  the  landlady  did  not 
know  whether  it  was  laudanum  or  not.  The 
day  before  she  had  dressed  him  very  carefully, 
and  seemed  anxious  to  keep  him  awake  until 
the  stage  arrived.  She  had  herself  been  much 
excited  all  day,  seeming  to  be  unusually  happy. 
The  child  had  the  mother's  watch  in  his  hand 
with  the  chain  about  his  neck.  The  landlady 
said  this  was  a  customary  method  of  putting 
him  to  sleep. 

The  landlord  was  excited  and  effusive.  He 
showed  the  money,  and  explained  why  he  had 
taken  charge  of  it.  There  was  something  over 
three  hundred  dollars.  He  was  ready  to  deliver 
it,  he  said,  to  any  one  authorized  to  receipt  for  it, 
less  reasonable  charges. 

The  landlady  answered  the  questions  asked 
her  at   the    inquest,  slowly   and    carefully,    but 
5 


66  BUTTON'S  INN, 

volunteered  no  information.  Really,  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  woman's  history  or  connections. 
She  was  sure  the  deceased  had  come  from  the 
East,  but  had  no  knowledge  from  what  State. 
She  did  not  remember  hearing  Mrs.  Evans  say 
anything  about  her  husband,  but  thought  he  was 
somewhere  at  the  West,  and  that  there  had  been 
an  estrangement  between  them.  The  deceased 
had  once  shown  her  a  lock  of  hair  in  the  back 
of  a  cameo  brooch,  and  said  it  was  her  hus 
band's.  As  to  the  conversation  with  Jack  the 
night  before,  the  landlady  said  he  had  told  her 
immediately  after  the  departure  of  the  stage  that 
he  had  a  message  of  importance  for  Mrs.  Evans 
and  must  see  her  at  once.  She  told  him  to  go 
and  deliver  it,  as  she  was  busy  with  her  house 
hold  cares,  it  being  Saturday  night,  and  unable, 
therefore,  .to  go  herself.  Her  son  was  not  ac 
customed  to  go  to  the  room  of  the  deceased,  and 
there  was  no  intimacy  between  them.  She  did 
not  think  he  had  ever  been  in  the  room  before 
during  the  lady's  stay  at  the  Inn.  This  testi 
mony  excited  some  remark,  and  was  given  with 
emphasis. 

One  letter,  and  only  one,  was  found  in  the 
room  of  the  deceased.  It  bore  date  of  the  day 
previous,  and  was  in  these  words:  — 


A    VACANT  CHAMBER.  6/ 

M.   E.   E. 

THE  reports  of  your  conduct  at  the  country  inn 
where  you  are  staying  satisfy  me  that  you  are  incorrigi 
ble.  I  shall  make  no  further  effort  to  reclaim  you  from 
the  ways  of  sin.  I  send  a  package  by  the  landlord's 
son,  which  will  be  the  last  you  will  ever  hear  of  him 
who  has  the  misfortune  to  be  your  husband.  A  sum 
will  be  deposited  for  you  with  my  bankers  each  year, 
which  may  be  drawn  as  you  require.  I  should  pray 
for  you  if  I  were  not  satisfied  that  you  are  of  those 
elected  to  eternal  wrath.  A.  E. 

It  was  written  in  a  bold  angular  hand  that 
comported  well  with  its  harsh,  fanatic  tone,  and 
contained  a  postscript  in  these  words  :  — 

"  If  you  choose  to  put  the  child  in  the  care  of  some 
godly  person,  resigning  all  control  over  him  yourself, 
my  bankers  will  provide  for  his  nurture  until  he  is  old 
enough  to  be  put  to  some  honest  vocation." 

So  the  woman's  good  name  was  at  the  same 
time  both  avouched  and  assailed.  The  marriage- 
ring  upon  her  finger  was  shown  to  be  no  lie,  and 
the  imputation  of  the  letter  was  too  vague  to  do 
more  than  react  upon  the  writer,  whose  stern 
ness  was  universally  held  to  be  only  sanctimo 
nious  cruelty.  All  pitied  the  beautiful  lady 
whom  rumor  had  been  only  too  ready  to  blame, 
and  the  whole  neighborhood  attended  her  fu- 


68  BUTTON'S  INN. 

neral,  and  every  one  remarked  upon  the  peaceful 
beauty  of  the  dead  lady's  face.  She  was  buried 
between  two  trees  that  grew  on  the  edge  of 
the  "  Gulf "  that  ran  back  of  the  Inn,  the  nearest 
burying-ground  being  two  miles  away,  the  roads 
almost  impassable,  and  the  weather  very  severe. 
The  landlady  suggested  this  spot  as  the  place  of 
interment,  because  it  had  been  a  favorite  resort 
of  their  unfortunate  guest  during  her  stay  at  the 
Inn.  Very  often  during  the  pleasant  autumn 
weather  she  had  passed  almost  the  entire  day 
upon  the  wooded  crest,  sitting  in  a  niche  in  the 
side  of  a  great  rock,  engaged  with  her  needle  or 
her  book,  or  idly  looking  off  on  the  bright  lake, 
while  the  two  children  —  her  son  and  the  land 
lady's  little  daughter — played  among  the  painted 
leaves  at  her  feet.  So  she  was  buried  there,  and 
the  great  bowlder  that  lay  beside  the  path  leading 
down  into  the  canon  was  her  only  headstone. 

Two  things  puzzled  the  gossips  of  the  country 
side,  —  the  fact  that  no  jewels  were  found  among 
the  dead  woman's  effects,  and  Jack  Button's 
disappearance. 

The  landlord  denied  all  knowledge  of  any 
jewelry  belonging  to  the  deceased  except  the 
cameo  brooch.  A  pedler,  who  was  a  guest 
that  night,  was  very  confident  that  he  had  seen 


A    VACANT  CHAMBER.  69 

diamonds  in  her  ears  when  she  came  down  to  the 
porch  on  the  arrival  of  the  stage.  Being  a  Jew, 
he  was  considered  an  unusually  good  authority 
upon  the  subject.  Opinion  was  divided  after 
ward  as  to  whether  Mrs.  Button  was  questioned 
about  this  matter  at  the  inquest  or  not.  At  all 
events,  nothing  more  was  learned  with  regard  to 
it.  The  result  was  a  general  belief  that  the  land 
lord  had  appropriated  the  rich  woman's  jewels  ; 
that  his  wife  at  least  suspected  this  unlawful 
conversion,  and  was  silent  in  regard  to  it  to  save 
the  family  from  disgrace.  Public  sympathy  set 
very  strongly  in  her  favor,  and  the  landlord  was 
soon  made  to  feel  himself  tabooed.  Somehow 
the  loss  of  the  jewels  was  in  the  public  mind 
connected  with  the  disappearance  of  the  land 
lord's  son ;  and  it  soon  became  current  gossip 
that  father  and  son  had  appropriated  a  fortune 
in  precious  stones  from  their  dead  guest.  Of 
course  the  details  of  this  did  not  come  imme 
diately  to  the  landlord's  ears  ;  but  he  soon  knew 
he  had  somehow  become  an  object  of  suspicion. 
Travellers  refused  to  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace 
under  the  roof  of  the  Inn,  despite  the  invitation 
of  the  aboriginal  upon  its  sign  ;  the  newly 
established  rival,  "  Corey's,"  but  a  mile  away, 
became  prosperous  as  "  Button's  "  declined  ;  and 


7O  BUTTON'S  INN. 

soon  "  Hawk's  "  only  customers  were  a  few  roy- 
stering  companions  of  the  neighborhood,  and 
now  and  then  a  belated  wayfarer. 

To  the  events  already  narrated  was  soon 
added  another,  which  in  the  opinion  of  the 
neighborhood,  at  least,  very  strongly  confirmed 
the  general  suspicion  of  the  landlord's  guilt. 
Not  long  after  the  funeral  the  landlady  removed 
her  personal  effects  from  the  apartment  she  had 
occupied  with  her  husband  on  the  west  side  of 
the  public-room,  and  with  her  baby  and  the 
stranger-child  took  possession  of  one  in  the  east 
ern  extension.  This  room  had  a  closet  across 
the  end  under  the  overhanging  second  story  of 
the  original  building,  and  a  window  that  looked 
out  upon  the  porch  just  beyond  the  door  of  the 
public-room.  It  was  the  one  her  son  had  always 
occupied,  and  her  appropriation  of  it  was  looked 
upon  as  evidence  that  she  did  not  expect  him 
to  return,  —  that  she  had  indeed  good  reason  to 
know  he  would  not  return.  From  that  time  on, 
the  pale  sad  face  of  the  landlady  was  often  seen 
at  this  window,  and  it  was  noticed  that  she  never 
left  the  room  without  locking  the  door.  People 
pitied  her  openly,  and  shook  their  heads  cau 
tiously  when  they  mentioned  her  husband.  She 
said  nothing  of  what  had  happened  :  her  hus- 


A   VACANT  CHAMBER.  Jl 

band  could  talk  of  nothing  else.  It  was  before 
the  days  of  professional  detectives  ;  but  the 
inhabitants  of  Button's  Inn  were  very  closely 
watched.  Nothing  further  was  discovered,  how 
ever.  The  landlady  neglected  none  of  her  duties, 
though  she  added  to  them  the  care  of  the  dead 
woman's  child,  whom  she  had  legally  bound  to 
herself,  —  not  to  her  husband.  The  lawyer  who 
had  attended  to  the  matter  for  her  doubted  its 
legality,  she  being  a  married  woman  ;  but  she 
insisted,  and  had  her  way.  After  a  time  the 
landlord  transferred  the  title  to  the  Inn  to  a 
trustee  for  the  benefit  of  his  wife.  This  was 
generally  thought  to  be  an  express  condition 
of  her  silence  in  regard  to  what  had  occurred, 
but  in  fact  it  was  done  of  his  own  motion  and 
without  his  wife's  knowledge.  It  did  not  serve, 
however,  as  he  no  doubt  hoped  it  would,  to 
change  their  relations.  She  continued  to  per 
form  her  duties  with  exemplary  faithfulness,  but 
made  no  advances  towards  a  reconciliation,  —  if, 
indeed,  there  had  been  any  rupture.  This  was 
what  the  gossips  were  most  puzzled  to  decide.  In 
a  sense,  she  had  separated  herself  from  her  hus 
band  ;  he  was  never  seen  in  her  room,  and  she 
appeared  to  take  special  precautions  to  exclude 
him  from  it.  On  the  other  hand,  there  was  no 


72  BUTTON'S  INN. 

complaining,  and  apparently  no  bickering.  She 
treated  him  with  coolness  it  is  true,  but  with 
every  outward  show  of  respect.  Always  of  a 
serious  cast  of  mind  as  we  have  seen,  she  now 
became  most  assiduous  and  untiring  in  her  reli 
gious  duties.  The  great  Bible  which  had  been 
almost  her  only  dowry  was  seldom  out  of  her 
hands  when  she  could  command  leisure  for  its 
perusal.  The  strange  lady's  books  were  care 
fully  arranged  upon  a  shelf  in  her  room,  but  she 
rarely  glanced  at  their  pages.  She  had  become 
a  religious  recluse,  who  had  made  her  son's  room 
a  penitential  retreat,  and  kept  always  with  her 
the  dead  woman's  boy  as  a  reminder  of  the  sin 
she  sought  to  expiate  for  others.  This  was  the 
interpretation  the  gossips  put  upon  her  conduct. 
Certain  it  was  that,  without  seeming  to  do  so, 
she  kept  a  close  watch  upon  her  husband's  move 
ments,  —  her  manner  toward  him  changing  from 
one  of  timid  obedience  to  constant  watchfulness. 
It  was  generally  understood  to  be  in  her  behalf 
that  the  circuit-rider,  who  preached  every  fourth 
Sabbath  at  the  little  country  church  two  miles 
away,  always  asked  the  prayers  of  God's  people 
for  one  in  deep  affliction.  Some  pitied,  and 
others  blamed  her  for  not  telling  all  they 
thought  she  knew ;  but  there  was  none  who 


A   VACANT  CHAMBER.  73 

did  not  love  the  sad-eyed  woman  who  would 
not  lose  her  hold  upon  her  husband,  nor  abandon 
hope  of  his  salvation. 

The  next  spring,  when  the  ice  broke  up,  the 
body  of  a  man  was  found  floating  in  the  harbor. 
It  was  unrecognizable.  Some  thought  it  the 
body  of  Jack  Button  ;  others  declared  that  it  was 
not.  Among  the  latter  was  his  father.  It  was 
observed,  however,  that  when  the  mother  was 
shown  a  lock  of  hair  from  the  head  of  the 
drowned  man  she  was  much  agitated,  and  placed 
it  between  the  leaves  of  her  Bible,  which  lay 
always  on  a  little  stand  by  the  window  where 
she  kept  daily  watch,  —  for  what  none  knew. 
As  to  whether  it  was  or  was  not  the  body  of  her 
son,  she  expressed  no  opinion.  The  inquest  pro 
nounced  the  body  unknown,  and  it  was  decently 
interred  on  the  banks  of  the  lake  near  the  light 
house  tower.  Not  long  after,  the  grave  was 
enclosed  with  a  neat  paling,  —  at  whose  expense 
was  never  known. 

The  room  above  the  public  was  never  occu 
pied  after  the  lady's  death.  Naturally  enough 
guests  did  not  fancy  a  chamber  with  such  asso 
ciations.  Besides  that,  it  soon  obtained  the  repu 
tation  of  being  haunted.  Strange  sounds  were 
heard  to  issue  from  it  ;  lights  gleamed  in  the 


74  BUTTON'S  INN. 

window  at  night ;  and  more  than  once  a  white- 
robed  figure  had  been  seen  standing  at  the 
casement.  On  Saturday  nights  moans  and  sup 
plications  were  often  heard  by  those  in  the  room 
beneath,  followed  sometimes  by  screams  and 
the  falling  of  a  heavy  body  upon  the  floor  of  the 
haunted  chamber.  More  than  once  at  such 
times  parties  had  rushed  up  from  the  public- 
room  only  to  find  the  suspected  apartment  en 
tirely  vacant,  and  everything  in  it  undisturbed. 
When  the  storm  raged  from  the  northwest  in 
the  summer-time  the  room  was  sure  to  be  bril 
liantly  lighted,  yet  there  were  never  any  traces 
of  occupancy.  Finally,  the  furniture  was  re 
moved  and  the  door  nailed  up.  Still  the  mani 
festations  continued.  The  excellence  of  its 
entertainment,  curiosity,  and  even  pity  for  the 
woman  who  was  the  manager  of  the  Inn  still 
gave  it  some  custom  ;  but  it  was  the  farm  rather 
than  the  tavern  on  which  she  relied  for  the 
maintenance  of  the  household  and  the  little 
savings  she  so  jealously  hoarded,  —  none  knew 
for  what.  After  a  time  her  husband's  disso 
lute  habits  absorbed  not  only  the  little  surplus, 
but  piece  after  piece  of  the  farm  itself  found 
its  way  down  the  throat  of  the  sorely  beset 
landlord. 


A   VACANT  CHAMBER.  75 

That  Lonny  Button  finding  himself  shunned, 
suspected,  and  his  business  almost  destroyed, 
did  not  go  entirely  to  the  bad  was  due  solely  to 
his  wife's  loyalty.  Though  she  directed  every 
thing,  she  did  it  .always  in  his  name,  never  al 
lowing  any  imputation  to  fall  upon  him  even  of 
neglect.  He  was  a  proud  man  in  his  way,  and 
would  not  descend  to  explanation  or  excuse,— 
least  of  all  to  his  wife.  After  a  time  he  grew 
savage  and  morose,  and  though  not  often  help 
lessly  intoxicated,  was  very  rarely  sober.  He 
frequently  declared  that  he  was  tired  of  keeping 
a  haunted  house  and  being  an  object  of  suspicion 
to  his  neighbors. 

One  stormy  night  in  the  fall  of  the  next  year 
the  light  was  shining  in  the  window  above  the 
public-room,  and  a  white  figure  was  dimly  vis 
ible  behind  it.  Two  of  the  landlord's  compan 
ions  returning  with  him  from  the  harbor  pointed 
it  out  to  him  with  blanched  faces.  He  rolled  off 
his  horse,  swearing  that  he  would  endure  such 
things  no  longer,  went  into  the  house  and  re 
turned  with  his  rifle.  He  had  it  loaded  with  a 
silver  bullet  in  anticipation  of  such  an  opportu 
nity.  Resting  his  piece  against  the  body  of  a 
tree,  he  took  deliberate  aim  and  fired.  The 
watchers  heard  the  ball  crash  through  the  glass  ; 


7  6  BUTTON'S  INN. 

the  light  disappeared,  and  shrill,  heart-breaking 
screams  burst  on  their  ears.  They  fled  in  af 
fright,  leaving  the  unhappy  man  insensible  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree  where  he  had  fallen.  The 
domestics  and  the  guests  o/  the  Inn  were 
aroused  by  the  turmoil.  The  landlady  was 
found  writhing  and  foaming  in  uncontrollable 
convulsions.  When  she  recovered  conscious 
ness,  she  was  unable  to  speak  aloud.  The  phy 
sician  said  it  was  the  effect  of  excitement ;  the 
neighbors  attributed  it  to  a  supernatural  cause. 
There  was  always  something  uncanny  about  the 
gray-haired,  voiceless  woman  afterward.  The 
next  day  the  haunted  chamber  was  opened,  and 
found  to  contain  no  sign  of  the  occurrence  ex 
cept  a  broken  glass  and  a  bullet-hole  in  the*  roof. 
That  night  a  schooner  was  wrecked  on  the  bar, 
and  all  the  crew  but  one  perished.  The  sur 
vivor  said  they  were  making  the  harbor,  steer 
ing  by  a  light  which  one  of  the  crew  said  was 
in  the  window  of  Button's  Inn.  Keeping  this 
in  range  with  the  harbor  light,  the  helmsman 
said  they  would  make  the  offing,  despite  the 
heavy  sea  from  the  west.  When  it  went  out 
they  had  no  landmark  by  which  to  lay  their 
course,  and  in  a  few  moments  grounded  on  the 
very  end  of  the  long  bar,  and  went  to  pieces. 


A   VACANT  CHAMBER.  77 

Somehow  Lonny  Button  became  possessed  with 
the  idea  that  the  sailor  who  held  the  rudder  was 
his  son.  After  that  he  enlarged  the  windows  in 
the  public-room,  and  on  stormy  nights  took  care 
that  they  should  always  be  lighted  by  a  glowing 
fire. 

So  the  years  went  on,  the  silent  woman  and 
the  melancholy  man  growing  each  more  marked 
in  their  respective  characteristics ;  and  with  them 
Ozro  Evans  and  Dotty  Button  had  grown  up 
side  by  side.  The  house  was  still  an  inn,  and 
still  the  room  over  the  public  was  called  the 
"  haunted  chamber  ; "  but  much  of  the  horror 
that  once  attached  to  the  house  had  given  place 
to  curiosity,  and  Dotty's  charms  were  bringing 
back  to  the  hostel  something  of  the  old-time 
popularity.  The  fortunes  of  the  Inn  had  been 
at  a  very  low  ebb  ;  sickness  had  impaired  the 
landlady's  capacity  ;  Lonny,  grown  old  and  quer 
ulous,  had  long  since  ceased  to  have  any  care  of 
its  affairs,  and  the  fact  that  the  Inn  was  still  in 
operation  was  in  a  large  degree  due  to  the  ex 
ertions  of  the  young  man  Ozro  Evans. 


ONCE   FOR  ALL. 

"  T  T  'S  no  use,   Ozro,"  the  girl   spoke  firmly, 

•*•  looking  frankly  up  into  her  lover's  face. 
"  We  have  been  children  together,  and  have 
always  loved  each  other;  but  all  that  must  end, 
and  it  may  as  well  end  here  and  now." 

"  But  won't  you  hear  me,  Dotty  ?  "  asked  the 
young  man,  reaching  out  his  hand  as  if  to  lay  it 
on  her  shoulder. 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  nervously  taking  a  step 
backward  and  putting  aside  his  hand  half  rudely, 
—  "no,  I  won't  listen  to  you  !  Don't  you  see, 
Ozro,"  she  added  impatiently,  "I  cant  listen  to 
you  ?  I  've  been  over  this  matter  again  and  again, 
in  my  own  mind.  I  know  all  you  would  say,  all 
there  is  to  be  said  —  and  —  and  —  more  too  !  " 
she  ejaculated  with  a  sudden  fierceness. 

She  put  her  hand  hastily  to  her  throat,  as  if  to 
arrest  the  sob  that  came  in  spite  of  her  effort, 
and  continued  :  — 

"It's  hard,  of  course, — just  as  hard  for  me 
as  it  is  for  you,  I  '11  say  that.  But  there  's  no 


ONCE  FOR  ALL.  79 

use  of  waiting  or  hoping;  there's  nothing  to 
wait  for  and  nothing  to  hope  for." 

"  But,  Dotty  —  " 

"  Don't  stop  me  !  "  putting  up  her  hand  with 
an  imperative  gesture  ;  "  I  've  got  something  to 
say,  and  I  came  here  to  say  it  —  once  for  all." 

Her  face  was  pale,  but  her  dark  eyes  shone 
with  the  steady  light  of  a  fixed  purpose.  Her 
mouth,  close  shut,  showed  the  rugged  firmness 
implied  by  her  ancestral  name. 

"  You  will  come  of  age  to-morrow,  Ozro,  and 
go  away.  Yes,  you  will  —  you  must.  Why 
should  you  ?  Because  I  say  so.  Yes,  I  know 
you  have  always  obeyed  me.  Are  you  sorry 
for  it  now  ?  You  have  served  me,  fought  for 
me,  suffered  for  me.  Do  you  think  I  don't 
know  —  " 

She  took  hold  of  a  sapling  that  grew  near,  as 
if  to  steady  herself. 

"Do  you  think  I  don't  know?  You  would 
jump  over  the  bank  there  in  a  minute  if  I  asked 
it;  and  —  and  —  I  would  do  it  for  you,  too,  Ozro." 

Her  voice  trembled,  but  she  went  on  speaking 
hurriedly,  as  if  time  pressed. 

"  But  it  would  n't  do  any  good.  Our  fates 
seem  to  have  got  so  tangled  up  with  others  that 
we  can't  live  for  ourselves.  You  know  how  it 


80  BUTTON'S  INN. 

is.  There's  my  father  —  oh,  I  know  you  would 
treat  him  well  for  my  sake,  but  one  can't  go  on 
forgiving  always.  And  there  's  Ma,"  —  her  voice 
grew  soft  as  she  pronounced  the  tender  diminu 
tive,  with  her  curious  foreign  accent. 

"  But  I  love  her  as  well  as  you  do,"  burst  in 
the  young  man. 

"  I  know  you  do,  I  know  you  do,  Ozro,"  tears 
coming  in  spite  of  herself,  "  but  she  can't  live 
on  love  any  more  than  we." 

"  But  I  will  work,"  he  protested. 

"  Of  course,"  she  replied.  "  Have  n't  you 
always  worked  ?  I  'm  sure  we  'd  all  have  been 
in  the  poorhouse  if  it  had  n't  been  for  you  ; 
and  we  're  only  just  outside  the  door  as  it 
is.  Don't  you  suppose  I  see  how  things  have 
been  going  on  ?  You  Ve  done  a  man's  work 
for  years,  —  ever  since  you  left  school,  —  and 
more'n  any  other  man  would  have  done, 
working  antl  contriving  every  which  way  ; 
and  what  has  it  all  come  to  ?  The  farm 's 
been  growing  smaller  'n  smaller,  a  piece  split 
off  or  chopped  off  every  year,  till  there  's  only 
forty  acres  left  of  all  the  old  Boutonne  tract ; 
and  that's  mortgaged  for  more  than  its  worth, 
and  the  money  past  due  at  that.  And  what 
is  there  besides  ?  Nothing  !  " 


ONCE  FOR  ALL.  8 1 

"  The  Inn 's  doing  better  lately/'  ventured 
Ozro. 

"  It 's  helping  us  live,  that 's  all,"  said  the  girl, 
emphatically.  "  And  that 's  all  its  done  ever 
since  —  "  she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
added  apologetically  —  "since  the  trouble  came  ; 
and  it  won't  ever  do  any  better.  It 's  seen  its 
best  days,  and  I  would  n't  wonder  if  about  its 
last  days,  too.  If  it  was  n't  for  Mr.  Dewstowe  I 
doubt  if  it  would  pay  to  keep  the  door  open  now. 
People  don't  travel  by  the  same  lines  they  used 
to,  and  we  're  off  the  line." 

"  If  you  knew  what  —  what  I  can  do,  Dotty," 
said  the  young  man,  anxiously. 

"  Do  ?  What  could  you  do  with  us  all  hang 
ing  on  to  you  ?  You  'd  better  have  a  mill-stone 
about  your  neck  at  once.  I  tell  you,  Ozro, 
you  've  had  enough  of  hard  times,  and  I  ain't 
going  to  have  anything  to  do  with  making  your 
lot  any  worse.  I  'd  jump  right  down  the  bank 
there,  before  I  'd  marry  you  and  be  a  drag  on 
you,  as  I  'd  have  to  be." 

She  shuddered  as  she  pointed  down  the  pre 
cipice  by  which  they  stood.  The  young  man 
placed  himself  carelessly  between  her  and  the 
brink.  She  saw  the  movement,  and  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eye  as  she  said  excitedly :  — 
6 


82  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  would  ;  and  more  'n  that,  I  'd  see  you  do 
it,  before  I  'd  have  the  spoiling  of  your  life  on 
my  hands.  If  you  go  off  west  somewhere  by 
yourself,  you  '11  do  well.  There  ain't  no  doubt 
of  that,  Ozro,  and  you  deserve  it." 

"And  you?" 

"  Never  mind  about  me." 

"  You  '11  marry  Dewstowe,  I  suppose." 

"  Well,  suppose  I  do.  I  've  got  to  take  care 
of  Pa.  and  Ma,"  —  the  accent  suited  the  softened 
tone ;  "  they  're  getting  old  and  trying,  espe 
cially  Pa.  I  can't  neglect  them,  and  it  won't 
do  to  have  them  miss"  what  they  Ve  always  been 
accustomed  to." 

"  Dewstowe  's  got  money,  and  could  provide 
for  them,"  said  the  young  man,  meditatively. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dotty,  in  a  tone  not  altogether 
expressive  of  satisfaction. 

"  He  's  a  smart  man,  too,"  continued  Ozro. 

"  Yes,  smart  enough,"  she  assented,  as  if  she 
did  not  altogether  like  the  turn  the  conversation 
had  taken. 

"  But  he  does  not  love  you  as  I  do,  Dorothy." 

"Don't  call  me  that,  Ozro!"  she  exclaimed,  her 
lips  quivering,  and  tears  springing  to  her  eyes. 
"We  can't  have  everything  in  this  world." 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  it  was  a  dismal  failure. 


ONCE  FOR  ALL.  83 

"  Can't  we  leave  this  matter  open  a  while, 
Dotty? " 

He  had  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  she 
leaned  against  his  shoulder,  weeping  silently. 

"  No,  we  can't  —  we  must  rit,  I  mean."  There 
were  sobs  between  her  words.  "  You  are  twenty- 
one,  and  you  must  go  away,  and  —  and  —  I  —  I 
must  do  the  best  I  can." 

"  I  believe  we  were  made  for  each  other, 
Dotty,"  he  said  tenderly. 

He  had  worked  himself  to  the  brink  of  the 
chasm  as  they  talked,  and  she  had  given  back 
step  by  step,  until  now  they  stood  in  the  edge 
of  the  tinted  undergrowth  that  fringed  the  crest. 
They  had  been  so  absorbed  in  their  conversa 
tion  that  they  were  quite  unconscious  that  they 
were  in  full  view  of  the  Inn  and  of  the  road  that 
ran  by  its  door. 

"  Don't  you  think  so,  Dotty  ?  " 

The  only  answer  was  a  sigh  of  relief.  He 
bent  down  and  kissed  her.  She  did  not  mind 
it.  He  had  kissed  her  ever  since  she  could 
remember. 

The  crack  of  a  whip  sounded  from  the  high 
way,  and  a  pedler's  wagon,  drawn  by  four  sleek 
horses  and  resplendent  with  gay  colors,  came 
into  view  around  the  curve  of  the  hill.  She, 


84  BUTTON'S  INN". 

raised  her  head  and  glanced  quickly  at  the  ap 
proaching  equipage. 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  said  hastily,  trying  to  re 
lease  herself. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  That 's  Mr.  Dewstowe." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Ozro  !  Let  .  me  go  — 
please!" 

"  Not  till  you  promise  me  something,  Dotty," 
holding  her  yet  closer. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  She  struggled  to  free  herself, 
but  his  arms  were  like  iron. 

"  Promise  me  you  will  wait." 

"Oh,  I  can't" 

"You  must!" 

There  was  no  doubting  his  determination. 
The  only  chance  was  to  make  terms. 

"How  long?" 

"  A  year." 

"  Impossible  !  The  place  will  be  sold  long 
before  that." 

"Till  Christmas,  then." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  waiting  ?  It  will  only 
be  the  same  thing  over  again." 

"  Have  n't  I  deserved  that  much  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  angrily.     "  It  is  not  a  question 


ONCE  FOR  ALL.  85 

of  what  you  deserve,  but  —  you  won't  ask  any 
thing  more  ? " 

"  Not  another  day." 

"  And  then  —  what  ?  " 

"  If  I  cannot  remove  your  objections  I  will 
go  away  and  leave  you  free."  The  young  man 
spoke  very  solemnly. 

The  girl  glanced  over  her  shoulder.  The  four 
horses  with  the  yellow  van  behind  them  were 
dashing  down  the  hill  to  the  Inn. 

"  I  promise,"  she  said  hastily. 

The  young  man  loosed  his  clasp  and  they 
stepped  back  into  the  path,  out  of  sight  of  the 
road. 

"  What  made  you  do  so  ?  "  she  asked  re 
proachfully,  as  he  kissed  her  again.  "  You  know 
it  will  be  of  no  use.  It  can't  —  ever  —  be  — 
Ozro  Evans,  and  you  know  it !  Why  not  have 
the  matter  over,  and  be  done  with  it  ? " 

She  stepped  back  and  looked  up  at  him 
wearily.  "  Only  think  how  much  trouble  there 
has  been  on  account  of  —  of  what  has  hap 
pened  !  Suppose  my  brother  should  return  ?  " 

"  Your  brother?  Don't  be  foolish,  Dotty. 
He  is  dead  —  long  ago." 

"  No,  he  is  n't,  Ozro." 

"  No  ?     Why  do  you  think  so  ? " 


86  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it  from  what  Ma  says  when 
she  prays  for  him.  You  know  she  's  been  get 
ting  her  voice  back  a  little  of  late ;  but  she  has 
been  so  long  out  of  the  habit  of  using  it  that  she 
never  thinks  of  speaking  above  a  whisper;  and 
she  has  prayed  in  a  whisper  so  long  I  don't 
s'pose  she  knows  the  difference  now.  But  I 
can't  help  hearing  her,  and  she  always  prays 
for  Jack."  Her  voice  sank  as  she  made  this 
declaration. 

"There  is  nothing  strange  in  that." 

"  Not  if  he  is  alive  of  course." 

"  Nor  if  he  were  dead,  either." 

"  Why,  Ozro  !  Do  you  think  Ma  would  pray 
for  any  one  who  is  dead  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  I  suppose  not." 

"  Suppose  !  You  know  it  would  be  just  the 
wickedest  thing  in  the  world.  He  is  alive,  Ozro, 
and  she  knows  it,  and  that  is  the  reason  she 
prays  for  him." 

"  Well,  I  'm  sure  I  'm  glad  of  it,"  said  he, 
heartily.  "  I  hope  he  will  come  home,  —  and 
the  sooner  the  better." 

"  No,  you  don't,  for  there  was  something — I 
don't  know  what  —  about  him  and  your  mother." 

"  See  here,  Dotty,"  said  the  young  man, 
gravely,  for  the  first  time  showing  signs  of  an- 


ONCE  FOR  ALL.  8/ 

ger,  "  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  of  that  non 
sense.  Two  people's  lives  have  been  spoiled,  and 
at  least  two  others  made  to  suffer  a  great  deal, 
because  my  father  was  brute  enough  to  break  my 
mother's  heart  while  she  was  staying  at  the  Inn, 
and  people  were  malicious  enough  to  talk  about 
it,  —  for  that  is  all  there  is  of  it.  Poor  mother  !  " 
he  said,  glancing  toward  the  grave,  a  few  steps 
away,  "  I  don't  doubt  it 's  been  a  great  trouble 
to  her,  even  in  heaven,  to  know  how  much  sor 
row  has  come  out  of  her  misfortune.  But  I 
don't  think  any  ill  was  done  or  intended  toward 
the  poor  woman  by  any  one  but  the  brute  who 
was  unworthy  of  her  love." 

"Hush,  Ozro!"  said  Dotty,  "don't  speak  so 
of  your  father." 

"  My  father !  I  will  never  call  my  mother's 
murderer  my  father.  Your  father  has  been  my 
father,  Dotty  ;  not  always  overkind,  and  having  a 
curious  antipathy  against  me,  arising,  no  doubt, 
from  the  foolish  gossip  of  the  neighborhood.  I 
have  no  idea  that  any  one  bearing  his  name 
ever  did  my  mother  any  harm,  and  they  have 
certainly  shown  great  kindness  to  me." 

"  But,  Ozro,"  said  the  girl,  gazing  at  him  in 
wide-eyed  surprise,  "  there  is  the  —  the  ghost !  " 

She   lowered   her  voice   instinctively  as   she 


88  BUTTON'S  INN. 

spoke  the  words.     She  little  imagined  the  effect 
they  would  produce. 

The  young  man  burst  into  a  laugh  that  was  a 
perfect  tornado  of  mirth.  The  cachinnatory 
roar  echoed  and  re-echoed  up  and  down  the  nar 
row  glen.  He  laughed  still  louder,  and,  stagger 
ing  backward,  caught  hold  of  a  sapling  to  save 
himself  from  falling  over  the  cliff,  as  he  witnessed 
the  consternation  his  outburst  had  produced. 
The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  when  finally  he  en 
deavored  to  control  his  mirth,  and  between  con 
vulsive  relapses  attempt  an  explanation. 

''That's  it,  Dotty;  I  knew  the  ghost  was  at 
the  bottom  of  it !  I  —  I  —  "  He  broke  down, 
and  went  off  again  into  uncontrollable  laughter. 

"  What  has  made  so  much  trouble  to  others 
seems  to  be  a  very  funny  thing  to  you,"  said 
Dotty,  trying  to  speak  with  freezing  dignity. 

"  That 's  —  just  —  it  —  as  your  father  says, 
Dotty,"  he  responded,  still  laughing.  "The 
ghost  of  Button's  Inn  !  I  don't  suppose  any 
body  ever  laughed  at  it  before,  —  at  least,  not  so 
as  to  be  heard.  It's  enough  to  kill  one  to  think 
how  sacred  that  ghost  has  been  held.  Why, 
only  think,  Dotty,  it 's  had  the  best  room  in  the 
Inn  all  to  itself  for  eighteen  years,  and  has  n't 
paid  a  cent !  " 


ONCE  FOR  ALL.  89 

"  Ozro  Evans ! "  exclaimed  the  innkeeper's 
daughter,  in  angry  excitement.  "  I  should  think 
you  would  be  ashamed.  Right  here  beside  your 
mother's  grave,  too  !  " 

She  was  weeping,  though  she  hardly  knew 
why. 

The  young  man  was  sober  in  an  instant. 

"  Why,  Dotty,  I  didn't  mean  —  " 

"Don't  talk  to  me!  I'm  sure  it's  a  good 
thing  we  can't  ever  think  of  being  more  to  each 
other  than  we  are.  Anybody  so  heartless  as 
you  —  " 

She  broke  off  suddenly.  A  horn  sounded 
from  the  Inn.  It  was  the  usual  summons  for 
any  one  that  was  wanted  at  the  house. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Ozro,  called  back  to  every 
day  affairs  by  the  sound,  "  I  forgot  all  about 
Dewstowe's  horses." 

He  began  hastily  to  gather  up  his  load. 
"  Let 's  go,"  he  said,  seeing  that  she  made  no 
movement  to  accompany  him. 

"  I  will  come  —  presently,"  she  replied,  with 
a  blush. 

"  All  right,"  he  laughed,  interpreting  the  blush 
to  suit  himself.  "  But  you  '11  not  forget  your 
promise  ? " 

"  No." 


QO  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Well,  good-by,"  said  he,  gayly,  kissing  her 
cheek.  "  I  '11  tell  Dewstowe  you  're  coming." 

He  dodged  the  blow  she  aimed  at  his  ear, 
and  was  off  toward  the  house,  laughing  and 
whistling  as  he  went. 

"  Seems  to  be  in  good  spirits,  don't  he?"  said 
the  pedler  to  the  landlord,  as  he  stood  beside 
his  horses  at  the  watering-trough. 

"That's  what's  the  matter,  Dewstowe,"  ex 
claimed  the  old  man,  shaking  his  finger  at  the 
pedler,  "that's  jest  what's  the  matter.  'Tain't 
nateral,  you  see  —  'tain't  nateral  !" 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  muttered  the 
pedler  to  himself,  as  he  checked  up  the  nigh- 
wheeler  lest  he  should  drink  too  freely. 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE   ROAD. 

MR.  DEWSTOWE  was  one  of  the  most 
enterprising  and  successful  of  the  peri 
patetic  merchants  of  a  generation  ago.  He  was 
not  only  a  merchant,  but  a  horseman,  and  some 
thing  of  a  dandy  as  well.  He  prided  himself  on 
driving  the  finest  team  to  the  nattiest  turnout  on 
the  road.  The  team  consisted  of  two  iron-gray 
wheelers,  heavy  and  sleek,  and  a  span  of  bay 
leaders,  as  lively  and  trim  as  the  famous  stock 
of  the  Green  Mountains  could  afford.  He  knew 
the  value  of  a  horse,  and  no  stage-driver  in  the 
country  managed  a  four-in-hand  better  than 
the  keen-eyed,  firm-handed,  gloved  and  scented 
owner  of  the  wonderful  array  of  drawers  and 
boxes  mounted  on  stout  wheels,  locked  with  a 
hundred  keys,  ornately  painted,  and  lettered  — 


J.  DEWSTOWE, 

DRY   GOODS, 
New  York. 


Q2  BUTTON'S  INN. 

A  heavy  iron  railing  went  around  the  upper 
edge,  to  which  was  securely  padlocked  such 
light  merchandise  as  weather  and  rough  usage 
were  not  likely  to  injure.  A  comfortable  ex 
tension  top  might  be  raised  at  will  to  protect 
the  driver  from  sun  or  storm,  and  beside  him  on 
the  blue-cushioned  seat  sat  always  a  bull-dog, 
milk-white,  broad-chested,  pink-eyed,  and  crop- 
eared,  his  fore-shortened  upper  jaw  disclosing  an 
imposing  array  of  ivory,  and  a  mouth  his  owner 
was  accustomed  to  describe  as  "  a  perfect  rose 
bud."  Withal  his  skin  was  like  a  glove,  and  he 
had  never  turned  his  back  —  or  more  properly  his 
brief  apology  fora  tail — upon  a  foe. 

This  outfit  was  a  part  of  the  owner's  stock  in 
trade.  He  had  worked  his  way  up  from  a 
mere  pedler  following  the  tow-path  and  the 
cross-roads  with  a  pack  on  his  back,  to  the 
foremost  place  among  the  merchant-travellers' 
of  his  time,  by  close  attention  to  his  business 
and  a  careful  study  of  human  nature.  He  knew 
to  a  cent  how  much  his  horses,  his  dog,  and 
his  jaunty  clothing  cost,  and  how  much  they 
were  worth  in  his  business.  Though  he  liked 
the  distinction  they  gave  him  and  the  easy  inde 
pendent  life  he  led,  he  would  have  discarded 
them  all  on  the  instant  had  they  ceased  to  be 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD. 


93 


profitable.  He  was  likely  to  do  so  in  a  short 
time  anyhow,  for  the  fortune  he  had  acquired 
was  getting  beyond  what  might  be  profitably 
employed  in  his  business.  He  had  ceased  long 
ago  to  handle  any  but  the  finest  and  costliest 
goods,  and  had  now  half-a-dozen  men  in  his 
employ  with  outfits  only  a  little  less  pretentious 
than  his  own.  He  was  already  contemplating 
the  sale  of  the  whole,  preliminary  to  engaging  in 
a  new  kind  of  forwarding  business  which  he  be 
lieved  to  promise  remarkable  opportunities. 

He  would  probably  have  consummated  this 
change  before,  had  he  not,  something  like  a  year 
previous,  fallen  in  love  with  Lonny  Button's 
daughter.  He  was  not  a  bad  fellow,  —  keen, 
shrewd,  and  bright,  and  in  downright  earnest 
in  his  love.  It  was  not,  perhaps,  of  the  highest 
type.  He  was  not  sighing  or  sentimental,  but 
he  was  bold,  sincere,  and  confident.  To  use  his 
own  language,  he  saw  the  girl's  "capabilities," 
and  knew  that  the  saucy,  piquant  beauty  was  ex 
actly  the  wife  he  wanted  for  the  head  of  his  es 
tablishment  when  he  should  leave  the  road  and 
"  show  those  city  fellows  how  to  make  money." 
He  was  no  fool  and  no  niggard.  He  wanted 
everything  about  him  to  be  A-l ;  and  Dotty 
was  exactly  the  style  of  article  he  required  for 


94  BUTTON'S  INN. 

a  wife.  He  had  laid  furious  siege  not  only  to 
her  heart  but  to  her  father's  favor,  finding  no 
difficulty  in  capturing  the  unbounded  admiration 
of  the  weak  old  man,  awakening  the  apprehen 
sion  of  the  mother,  and  rousing  the  envy  of  all 
the  girls  in  the  neighborhood  by  his  attentions 
to  the  coquettish  young  mistress  of  the  haunted 
Inn.  For  Dotty  was  its  mistress  ;  the  shrewd 
dealer  saw  that  plainly  enough,  and  the  fact 
added  to  his  estimate  of  her  value  not  a  little. 
There  was,  no  doubt,  a  strong  commercial  flavor 
in  his  love.  It  smacked  not  of  the  shop,  but 
of  the  road  ;  yet  it  was  true  and  honest,  and 
would  stand  the  test  far  better  than  much  of  the 
"  wild-cat  "  money  of  that  day. 

For  a  year  the  enterprising  trader  had  stopped 
for  Sunday  at  the  Inn  every  time  his  business 
would  permit,  and  ofttimes  perhaps  to  its  detri 
ment.  A  drive  of  thirty  or  forty  miles  was 
nothing  to  him  by  day  or  by  night,  however, 
especially  as  he  believed  himself  to  be  mak 
ing  good  progress  in  his  wooing.  He  had  not 
been  over-modest  in  speaking  of  himself ;  yet 
to  do  him  justice  he  had  only  told  the  truth  of 
the  past,  and  his  prescience  of  the  future  fell 
far  short  of  what  the  reality  afterward  proved. 
That  there  was  something  about  this  dashing, 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD.  95 

adventurous,  and  successful  mercantile  nomad 
that  attracted  the  spirited  girl  there  could  be  no 
doubt.  She  was  fond  of  Ozro,  who  had  been  to 
her  a  servant  and  a  brother,  —  how  fond  she 
hardly  knew  till  she  began  to  think  of  another, 
—  but  he  was  awkward  and  shy ;  and  though 
strong  and  skilful  in  all  physical  sports,  and  per 
haps  in  the  abstract  quite  as  good-looking  as  the 
merchant-pedler,  he  lacked  the  advantage  which 
the  prestige  of  good  clothes,  success,  and  wealth 
must  ever  be  to  the  lover  who  does  not  prize 
such  incidents  too  highly.  For  some  months 
Ozro  had  been  unusually  silent  and  moody,  real 
izing  how  great  were  the  odds  against  him.  He 
knew,  too,  the  necessities  of  the  family ;  and  so 
true  was  his  love  that  he  could  not  bear  to  think 
that  it  should  bring  anything  of  deprivation  or 
hardship  to  its  object.  Indeed,  until  the  scene 
we  have  described,  he  had  purposely  refrained 
from  pressing  his  suit.  When  it  came  to  the 
point,  however,  his  earnestness  swept  away  all 
barriers  ;  and  Dotty,  who  thought  her  mind  al 
ready  made  up,  and  had  half-promised  her  rich 
suitor  an  answer  on  this  visit,  found  herself  more 
at  sea  than  ever.  Or  rather  she  had  found  that 
her  admiration  for  the  rich  trader  and  her  desire 
to  serve  her  parents  in  their  extremity  were  not 


96  BUTTON'S  INN. 

able  to  smother  her  love  for  the  devoted  com 
panion  of  her  youth. 

That  night  the  landlady  called  Ozro  into  her 
room,  and  the  two  talked  long  and  earnestly,— 
the  woman  speaking  in  whispers,  and  the  young 
man  listening  with  respectful  attention.  Much 
that  she  told  him  he  already  knew,  but  for  the 
first  time  he  learned  that  night  that  the  unfor 
tunate  woman's  long  estrangement  from  her  hus 
band  had  been  on  account  of  the  wrong  and  in 
jury  she  believed  her  spouse  had  done  to  him. 

"  I  hate  to  tell  ye,  Ozro,"  she  whispered  sadly, 
"  but  Lonny  Button  robbed  ye  of  all  your  mother 
had  to  leave.  It  was  n't  the  money  only,  but  the 
trinkets, —  diamonds  they  say  they  were.  He 
took  'em,  Ozro,  —  he  and  Jack.  I  don't  know 
what  ever  possessed  him  to  do  it,  but  I  'spect 
Jack  had  got  into  trouble,  —  in  fact  I  know  he 
had,  —  and  Lonny  probably  took  'em  to  help 
him  out.  He  's  my  husband,  Ozro,  and  I  hate 
to  say  a  word  agin  him  ;  but  jestice  is  jestice, 
an'  I  've  gone  contrary  to  the  Lord's  will  too 
often  in  my  day  to  be  willin'  to  cover  up  any 
longer  what  I  'spose  I  never  ought  to  have  hid. 
I  don't  know  how  much  he  got  for  'em,"  she 
continued,  "but  they  must  have  been  worth  a 
deal  of  money.  There  were  three  of  'em, — 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD,  Q/ 

two  for  the  ears,  and  one  in  a  little  bit  of  narrer- 
edged  pin  that  did  n't  seem  to  be  nothin'  at  all 
when  you  looked  straight  at  it,  only  a  gold  line 
holdin'  a  drop  of  dew  in  the  middle;  for  they 
looked  more  like  dewdrops  than  anythin'  else. 
They  wa'n't  bigger  'n  a  good-sized  pea, — 
scarcely  as  big  as  that,  as  I  remember  'em  ;  but 
she  told  me,  —  I  mean  yer  mother,  Ozro  ;  who, 
if  her  heart  was  set  on  the  vain  things  of  this 
world,  was  a  good  an'  patient  woman  who  never 
made  any  complaint  with  her  lot,  —  she  told  me 
that  each  one  of  them  little  bits  of  white  stones 
cost  a  deal  of  money.  I  don't  see  what  people 
want  of  such  things.  They  are  pretty  of  course, 
but  I  'd  a'  most  as  soon  have  a  handful  of  peb 
bles  from  the  beach.  Of  course  I  told  my  hus 
band  about  'em,  but  I  don't  think  he  ever  saw 
'em  till  that  night  afore  she  died.  I  was  afraid 
he  might  find  'em  afterwards  ;  an'  I  knew  if  he 
did,  his  covetousness  would  be  sure  to  git  the 
better  on  him,  —  for  he  is  awful  covetous,  Ozro, 
awful  !  So  I  snatched  'em  up  while  he  was  n't 
by,  an'  tucked  'em  in  a  hole  in  the  house-log,  an' 
put  a  piece  of  brown  paper  over  'em. 

"She  died  with  'em  in  her  hand,  Ozro,  which 
I  suppose  some  folks  would  have  counted  a  jedg- 
ment  on  her  pride.     But  I  knew  that  rich  as  she 
7 


98  BUTTON'S  INN. 

had  been  an'  handsome  as  she  was,  your  mother 
didn't  set  no  great  store  by  them  little  shiny 
stones.  She  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  and  de 
lighted  in  the  things  of  this  world  no  doubt. 
That 's  probably  what  set  yer  father  so  terribly 
agin  her.  I  think  he  was  a  pious  man,  but  I '.. 
afraid  he  was  .a  hard  man  too,  —  one  that  made 
duty  only  a  handy  name  for  his  own  unregener- 
ate  impulse.  But  it  ain't  for  me  to  jedge,  Ozro. 
He  that  calls  on  the  name  of  the  Lord  must  be 
jedged  by  the  Lord.  He  's  gone  to  his  account, 
an'  she  's  gone  to  hers.  Whatever  there  was 
between  'em  has  been  settled  by  One  that  makes 
no  mistakes.  But  however  worldly-minded  your 
mother  was,  I  knew  she  had  n't  set  up  way 
into  the  night  —  an'  she  all  alone  here  among 
strangers  that  did  n't  know  nor  care  anything 
about  the  vally  of  such  things — jest  to  look  at 
an'  gloat  over  them  little  bits  of  shinin'  vanities. 
She  did  n't  go  out  of  this  world  with  'em  in  her 
hand  because  her  heart  was  sot  on  'em  —  not  a 
bit  on  't.  I  don't  know  ez  I  ever  heard  her  say 
anything  about  bein'  a  professor,  Ozro,  but  she 
was  a  good  woman,  your  mother  was ;  and  I  Ve 
heard  her  prayin'  for  you  —  always  for  you,  for 
she  did  n't  ever  seem  to  care  for  herself —  as  no 
one  but  a  real  Christian  can  pray,  —  as  if  she 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD.        *  99 

expected  her  prayers  to  be  heard  an'  answered 
too.  So  I  knew,  jest  as  well  as  if  I  'd  been  there 
an*  she  'd  told  me  with  her  own  lips,  that  she 
had  n't  died  with  them  trinkets  in  her  hand,  and 
her  money  scattered  round  on  the  floor  beside 
her,  from  any  feeling  of  vanity.  It  was  n't  in 
her  nature  to  do  that  sort  of  thing.  I  knew  she 
had  'em  in  her  hand  for  some  good  purpose  ; 
and  she  must  have  known  the  end  was  near,  and 
meant  'em  to  be  saved  for  you.  That  was  my 
conceit,  anyhow,  an'  that's  why  I  hid  'em  away. 
I  may  have  been  wrong.  I  've  thought,  some 
times,  I  must  have  been,  an'  that  the  Lord  has 
punished  me  for  my  presumption  ;  but  what  I 
did  was  done  honestly  an'  in  His  fear,  an'  the 
end  is  in  His  hand.  It  was  a  good  while  before 
I  had  a  chance  to  go  and  look  for  'em,  and  then 
they  were  gone. 

"  I  'd  been  afraid  about  Jack  before,  but  I 
had  n't  any  suspicion  of  my  husband  till  then. 
He  acted  bad  enough  about  the  money,  but  that 
was  n't  much,  and  I  knew  we  could  make  it  up. 
Besides,  it  was  worth  something  to  care  for  you  ; 
though  you  have  made  that  good  about  a  hun 
dred  times  over,  since  you  have  grown  up.  I  've 
saved  up  a  little  for  ye,  lad,  so  you  won't  come 
twenty-one  quite  empty-handed.  T  wont  make 


TOO       •  BUTTON'S  INN. 

up  what  you  Ve  lost  through  them  that  bear  my 
name,  but  it 's  better  'n  nothing,  an'  is  all  I  've 
been  able  to  do.  Some  of  it  has  come  in  a  very 
strange  way,  but  one  that  is  no  mystery  to  me. 
It  gives  me  great  joy,  for  it  tells  me  that  some 
where  on  the  face  of  the  earth  —  I  don't  know 
where  nor  how  —  a  soul  has  repented  of  its  sin, 
an'  is  a  tryin'  to  undo  the  evil  it  once  wrought. 
I  trust  we  won't  always  be  your  debtors,  an* 
that  the  time  may  come  when  you  can  say  that 
all  accounts  are  squared  between  you  and  all  of 
our  name." 

"  I  am  sure  that  is  true,  now,"  said  the 
young  man,  earnestly;  "your  love  has  more 
than  paid  —  " 

"  Love  aint  jestice,  Ozro  ;  an'  kindness  don't 
pay  debts  between  them  that  are  not  of  kin." 

The  gray-haired  woman  looked  sternly  at  him, 
as  she  interrupted  with  relentless  judgment  on 
those  whose  wrong-doing  she  had  so  rigorously 
striven  to  expiate. 

"  I  know  you  would  n't  ever  make  complaint, 
Ozro,  nor  have  hard  feelings  toward  me ;  but 
before  I  can  ask  you  to  forgive  them  that's 
done  the  wrong,  I  'm  bound  to  let  you  see  that 
some  that  bear  the  name  has  done  their  best  to 
set  it  right." 


A  KNIGHT  ;&F'>  THE  'ROAD.  IOI 

Her  manner  was-so'mipdrious,  so  full  of  proud 
humility,  that  he  could  think  of  nothing  to  say 
in  reply.  After  a  moment  she  took  the  candle, 
went  to  the  closet  under  the  overhang,  and  re 
turned  with  a  buckskin  bag,  from  which  she 
emptied  a  quantity  of  coin  in  her  lap,  and  began 
to  count  it,  laying  it  in  little  piles  upon  her  knee. 
The  young  man's  eyes  sparkled  at  the  sight 
When  she  had  counted  fifty  dollars  he  reached 
out  his  hand  and  touched  her  arm.  She  paused 
and  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise  through  the 
great  glasses  set  in  heavy  German-silver  rims, 
which  she  had  donned  to  enable  her  to  read  the 
value  of  the  coins. 

"  Stop,  Mother,"  he  said  gently.  He  had  al 
ways  addressed  her  thus,  after  the  memory  of 
his  own  mother  grew  dim.  For  some  reason 
she  would  never  allow  him,  even  when  a  child, 
to  call  her  Ma,  as  his  little  playmate  did. 

"  Oh,  there 's  more  'n  that,"  she  said  with  a 
smile  of  satisfaction.  It  was  her  own  saving, 
—  the  result  of  the  most  pinching  economy  for 
years,  —  and  she  was  rather  proud  of  the  amount. 
"There  ain't  very  far  from  five  hundred  dollars 
here." 

"  Why,  Mother,"  exclaimed  Ozro,  "  why  have  n't 
you  used  it  instead  of  keeping  it  for  me  ?  You 


IO2  BUTTON'S  INN. 

have  needed  it  so  rriuch  !•'""  There  was  reproach 
in  his  tone. 

"  Yes,  we  've  needed  it  a  great  many  times," 
said  the  old  woman,  thoughtfully.  "A  great 
many  times,"  she  repeated,  as  she  snuffed  the 
candle  burning  in  the  iron  candlestick  upon  the 
table  near  her,  —  "  more  times  than  you  '11  ever 
know  about,  Ozro ;  but  I  did  n't  use  it  'cause  it 
was  n't  mine.  I  could  n't  make  it  all  up  ;  but  I 
promised  afore  God  to  be  a  helpmeet  to  Lonny 
Button,  an'  I  did  n't  see  no  way  I  could  help  him 
better  'n  by  trying  to  undo  the  wrong  he  had 
done  to  a  little  motherless  boy,  under  his  own 
roof-tree." 

"  I  never  could  make  out  jest  what  made 
him  do  it.  There  never  was  an  honester  nor 
a  kinder  man  than  he  up  to  that  very  day. 
I  s'pose  't  was  too  great  a  temptation.  God 
knows,  God  knows ! "  she  whispered  reverently, 
shaking  her  head  with  sad  uncertainty. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  took  them,"  said  the  young 
man,  emphatically. 

"  Oh,  I  heard  him  searching  for  'em,"  she 
answered  hopelessly. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  took  them  ;  I  can't  be 
lieve  it,"  he  reiterated. 

"  You  think  perhaps  't  was  Jack  ?  "  she  asked, 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE   ROAD.  103 

wiping  her  spectacles. -on.  the- '  corner  of  her 
coarse  checked  apron.  "  That  would  n't  make  it 
a  bit  better,  —  worse  if  anything.  But  't  was  n't 
Jack.  I  thought  so  at  first ;  but  't  was  n't  him, 
-I'm  satisfied  of  that ;  't  was  n't  him.  I  don't 
know.  I've  thought  sometimes — but  I  don't 
know  what  I  hain't  thought.  I  know  Jack 
did  n't  take  'em.  He 's  done  wrong  enough, 
God  knows,  but  he  did  n't  do  that.  I  don't 
doubt  it  was  done  for  his  sake,  an'  he  may  have 
been  privy  to  it  ;  but  he  did  n't  take  'em,  —  that 
I  know"  She  sighed  as  she  ceased  speaking. 

"It  doesn't  make  any  difference,  Mother," 
said  the  young  man,  taking  her  hand.  It  was 
a  lean  hard  hand,  with  short  blunted  nails. 
The  finger-ends  were  rough  and  the  palm 
seamed  by  many  years  of  toil.  The  young 
man  held  it  between  his  own  as  tenderly  as  if 
it  had  been  the  girl's  whose  saucy  laugh  he 
heard  upon  the  porch  in  conversation  with  his 
rival. 

"  Mother,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  I  do  not  care 
what  became  of  the  jewels,  or  whether  they 
were  worth  much  or  little.  I  do  not  think  they 
could  have  been  of  any  great  value  ;  and  if 
they  were,  I  have  received  payment  in  full  in 
your  care.  Remember,  you  have  given  me  a 


104  $lTT7'p,iv>;s  INN. 

better  education  than  j'our  own  son  received,  — 
even  better  than  you  have  given  Dotty." 

"  It  was  n't  what  I  wanted  to  make  it,  Ozro," 
sighed  the  woman,  smoothing  back  her  gray 
hairs  with  the  disengaged  hand. 

"Whatever  it  lacks  I  shall  make  good,"  said 
he,  cheerfully. 

"But,  Mr.  Button  — "  she  said  hesitatingly, 
"he  —  hasn't  been —  I  don't  want  to  blame 
him,  Ozro,  but  he 's  been  pretty  hard  on  ye 
sometimes." 

"  In  words,  Mother,  only  in  words,"  was  the 
soothing  reply. 

"  I  do  believe  that 's  so,  Ozro,"  she  answered 
eagerly,  "  and  I  'm  glad  he  hain't  been  worse. 
You  know  how  he  is,"  pityingly. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,  Mother.  I  don't  think 
he  really  dislikes  me ;  but  he  thinks  I  have  been 
the  cause  of  your  estrangement  from  him,  and 
so  has  fallen  into  the  habit  of  laying  all  his 
misfortunes  to  me." 

"It  wasn't  that,  Ozro,  —  it  wasn't  that.  He 
thought  I  was  angry  with  him  when  I  came  to 
this  room,  and  I  won't  say  I  was  n't.  He  's 
been  a  great  trial  to  me,  —  a  great  trial.  I  tried 
to  do  right  by  him  and  do  my  duty  to  God  also. 
I  loved  him,  and  I  always  have  loved  him,  Ozro ; 


A   KNIGHT  OF   THE  ROAD.  105 

but  I  'm  a  Christian  woman,  and  when  he  took 
to  drink  and  began  to  entice  our  son  into  bad 
ways,  I  could  n't  always  speak  cheerful.  It  was 
like  cutting  my  heart  out  to  see  him  leading 
that  boy  along  the  brink  of  ruin.  Oh,  I  prayed 
till  my  knees  were  calloused  like  the  bottom 
of  your  foot.  I  prayed  and  wept  until  it  seemed 
as  if  there  could  be  no  God,  or  He  would  have 
heard  me.  But  it  was  n't  any  use.  It  had  to 
be,  I  s'pose. 

"And  then  came  this  thing,  —  here  in  my 
own  house,  under  my  very  eyes,  —  this  horri 
ble  thing  !  I  could  n't  say  a  word  —  not  a  word, 
for  fear  of  something  worse.  You  can't  ever 
know  what  I  Ve  borne  all  these  years,  Ozro. 
And  I  haven't  said  a  word  —  not  a  word,  you 
know ;  I  have  n't  blamed  him,  nor  let  anybody 
else  blame  him  in  my  hearin'. 

"  I  came  to  this  room,  Ozro,  to  save  him  ; 
and  I  've  stayed  here  to  save  him  —  his  good 
name,  I  mean.  I  knew  I  was  the  only  one  that 
could  do  it,  and  I  've  done  it.  In  all  these  years 
I  have  n't  breathed  a  word  to  a  living  soul  of 
what  has  been  in  my  heart  all  the  time.  I 
prayed  to  God  to  help  me,  and  He  did  help  me, 
blessed  be  His  name !  You  can't  think  how 
terrible  it  was.  But  when  the  load  was  getting 


IO6  BUTTON'S  INN. 

too  heavy  —  when  I  was  afraid  every  day  that 
I  should  tell  —  God  took  away  my  voice.  For 
this,  which  others  thought  an  affliction, — for 
this  I  praise  Him  day  and  night. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it 's  comin'  back,"  she  said,  in 
answer  to  his  look,  speaking  now  in  the  harsh 
broken  tone  characteristic  of  one  whose  vocal 
chords  have  been  for  a  long  time  unused.  "  I 
know  it.  I  Ve  heard  myself  talkin'  more  'n 
once  lately,  though  I  did  n't  know  my  own  voice 
at  first ;  and  I  take  it  as  a  sign  from  the  Lord, — 
a  sign  that  I  must  speak  out  at  last,  and  keep 
silence  no  more." 

She  drew  her  hand  from  his,  and  placing  the 
money  on  the  table  started  across  the  room. 
Then,  as  if  she  had  changed  her  purpose,  she 
came  back,  and  placing  her  hand  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder  said  :  — 

"  You  and  Dotty  had  a  long  talk  up  on  the 
bank  to-day.  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  About  what  ?  " 

"About  marryin'  you.  We  may  as  well  speak 
plain,  Ozro.  I  know  you  love  her,  and  she 
would  love  you  too,  if  it  was  n't  for  that  miser 
able  pedler  followin'  her  round." 

"  She  does  n't  love  him,  Mother." 

"  No,"  said  the  woman,  bitterly  ;  "but  she  loves 


A   KNIGHT  OF   THE  ROAD.  IO/ 

his  money  and  his  fine  clothes  and  his  horses, 
perhaps  even  his  dog.  It 's  in  the  blood,  Ozro, — 
covetousness  and  love  for  the  things  of  this  world. 
But  she  sha'n't  do  it,  Ozro  !  she  sha'n't  do  it ! " 

"  But  I  tell  you  she  does  n't  want  to  —  if  she 
can  help  it,  that  is." 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  human  heart,  Ozro,  —  I 
ought  to  know  it,  and  I  do  know  how  desper 
ately  wicked  it  is  ! " 

She  walked  up  and  down  the  room  wringing 
her  hands  as  she  spoke. 

"  See  here,  Mother,  Dotty  won't  marry  Mr, 
Dewstowe  unless  she  believes  it  necessary  for 
your  comfort ;  and  if  she  believes  that,  she  '11  do 
it  anyhow.  I  'm  sure  she  loves  me,  but  she  thinks 
it  is  her  duty  to  look  out  for  you  and  her  father  ; 
and  so  do  I.  She  has  given  me  until  Christmas 
to  see  if  I  can  show  any  prospect  that  will 
justify  her  in  refusing  Mr.  Dewstowe.  That 's 
fair,  Mother,  and  I  don't  think  we  ought  to 
make  her  duty  any  harder.  I  am  going  to 
try  ;  and  if  I  fail  —  I  can't  say  I  '11  give  her  up 
willingly,  but  I  won't  do  anything  to  make  it 
any  harder  for  her.  You  wonder  what  I  am 
going  to  do  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  money  on  the  table  and 
continued :  — 


108  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  can  do  anything,  Mother ; 
but  if  you  will  let  me  have  fifty  dollars  of  that, 
I  will  try.  Perhaps  I  may  have  something  to 
show  that  will  put  me  on  even  terms  with  Mr. 
Dewstowe,  and  then  Dotty  will  not  hesitate  —  " 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,  boy,  —  don't  you  believe 
it,"  she  whispered  raspingly.  "  I  don't  doubt 
you  may  be  right  now,  —  I  don't  think  she's 
clean  gone  yet,  —  but  against  Christmas  comes 
he  '11  have  her  charmed  worse  'n  a  black  snake 
charms  a  bird.  No,  no,  Ozro,  I  sha'  n't  risk  it. 
You  can  have  the  money  of  course,  it 's  all 
yours  ;  but  me  and  mine  have  done  you  harm 
enough  already.  No,  take  it  all,"  she  said,  as 
he  took  the  fifty  dollars  and  handed  the  bag 
back  to  her.  "  You  won't  ?  Then  I  '11  keep 
it  for  you.  You  talk  mighty  brave  now,  but 
you  know  't  would  kill  you  to  give  her  up, — or 
you  'd  kill  yourself  as  soon  as  you  got  beyond 
range  of  her  knowledge,  so  't  she  would  n't  ever 
know  she  'd  done  it." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  that  runs  in  the  blood,"  said 
Ozro,  with  a  shudder. 

"  It's  no  such  thing,  Ozro,  no  such  thing,  and 
you  must  n't  think  so." 

The  woman  paused  before  him,  and  looking 
up  he  saw  that  her  face  was  pale,  her  eyes 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD.  IOQ 

of  a  glassy  brightness,  and  her  hands  tightly 
clasped  at  her  sides. 

"  I  ain't  a-going  to  trifle  any  more.  Me  and 
mine's  done  you  harm  enough,  Ozro  Evans, 
and  I  won't  sit  still  and  see  Dotty  playing  with 
your  love  under  any  sort  of  pretence.  To 
morrow  you  '11  be  twenty-one.  My  voice  has 
come  back  to  me  jest  in  time.  It 's  God's  will 
that  I  should  speak  out,  and  I  'm  goin'  to  speak 
out,  —  to  you,  anyhow.  I  've  carried  the  load 
long  enough  ;  now  I  '11  give  it  to  you,  and  let 
you  spell  me  a  while.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  care 
what  you  do  with  it,  —  whether  you  hold  it 
or  drop  it.  It 's  all  one  to  me.  I  'm  done 
with  it." 

"  Why,  Mother,"  exclaimed  the  young  man 
in  surprise,  "  what  do  you  mean  ? " 

She^>ent  her  face  to  his  ear  and  whispered: 
"  Your  mother  was  killed  !  " 

"  What  !  "  he  exclaimed,  springing  up  and 
seizing  her  wrists  ;  "  you  don't  mean  —  " 

Her  head  fell  forward,  and  he  saw  the  even 
parting  of  her  thin  gray  hair.  Somehow  it 
wakened  in  him  an  infinite  pity.  His  grasp 
relaxed  and  his  voice  softened  as  he  repeated 
his  inquiry,  though  it  still  trembled  with  in 
tense  excitement. 


IIO  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"That's  why  I  have  stayed  in  this  room," 
she  whispered  hoarsely. 

"But  you  cannot  mean  — "  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  complete  the  inquiry. 

"Jack!"  Her  head  sank  still  lower  as  she 
uttered  the  word. 

The  young  man  let  go  her  hands,  and  she 
fell  into  a  chair  as  if  the  power  to  hold  herself 
erect  had  departed. 

"  Does  —  does  —  she  know  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Ozro  ! "  sighed  the  woman,  "  I  have 
lived  all  these  years  only  to  keep  any  one  from 
knowing  it !  O  God,  forgive  him !  My  son ! 
My  son  ! " 

There  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes.  The  foun 
tains  of  grief  seemed  to  have  been  long  dried 
up.  She  only  wrung  her  hard,  leathery  hands 
and  looked  up  with  dry,  hopeless  appeal  in  the 
unwinking  orbs. 

"  Poor  Mother!"  he  said  pityingly. 

"  It  was  all  I  could  do,"  she  said,  humbly 
excusing  herself,  —  "jest  live  and  pray,  and  do 
what  I  could  for  you.  It  wasn't  much,  Ozro, 
but  it's  been  better  'n  the  poorhouse  or  — 
strangers.  I  hoped  Dotty  would  marry  you, 
an'  so  hide  her  brother's  sin  without  ever  know 
ing  it.  I  would  n't  have  told  you  then.  But  if 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD.  Ill 

she  thinks  of  marryin'  another,  you  must  know, 
and  she  too.  She  must  learn  how  much  wrong 
we've  done  you,  —  what  reason  you  have  to 
hate  us  all  :  there  ain't  no  help  for  it  now  ! 
When  she  knows  you  hold  our  good  name  — 
what  there  is  left  of  it,  at  least  —  in  your  hands, 
she  '11  give  up  her  ambitious  notions,  I  'm  sure 
she  will.  She 's  a  good  girl,  Dotty  is.  I  'm 
sorry  there  's  any  need  of  telling  her." 

The  young  man  placed  his  hand  upon  her 
shoulder.  She  looked  up  at  him  pathetically, 
her  lips  moving  as  they  often  did  without  any 
sound  issuing  from  them. 

"  She  must  never  know,"  he  said  emphatically. 
"  What  you  have  guarded  so  long  shall  still  be  a 
secret." 

«  But  —  but  —  Jack  ?  What  '11  you  do  about 
Jack  ? "  she  gasped,  with  a  shudder. 

"  God  deal  with  him  ! "  said  the  young  man, 
solemnly ;  "  I  am  not  called  upon  to  open  the 
grave." 

He  turned  away  from  her,  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  narrow  room,  greatly  agitated.  The 
end  of  the  wick  fell  over  and  the  candle  began 
to  splutter.  She  snuffed  it  again,  and  looked 
keenly  into  his  face.  The  light  of  youth  had 
gone  out  of  it.  She  went  and  stood  before  him, 


112  BUTTON'S  INN. 

her  hands  clasped,  and  her  lips  moving.  He 
turned  from  his  way,  and  passed  by  her  uncon 
sciously.  He  was  thinking  not  so  much  of  the 
crime  as  of  the  sorrow  it  had  brought.  He  felt 
for  this  woman  who  had  been  a  mother  to  him 
far  more  keenly  than  for  the  dead  one,  whom  he 
doubted  if  he  could  remember  at  all.  She 
thought  he  meant  to  avoid  her. 

"  Ozro,  I  will  tell  all !  " 

He  started  as  if  waked  out  of  a  dream,  and 
looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Had  she  any 
thing  more  to  tell  ?  Could  it  be  that  she  was  a 
party  to  the  crime  ?  His  face  blanched  at  the 
thought. 

"  All !  What  more  is  there  ? "  he  asked  in 
a  tone  of  terrified  appeal. 

The  woman  pressed  one  hand  upon  her  heart 
and  clasped  the  other  tightly  over  it.  She  did 
not  seem  to  see  him,  though  her  eyes  were 
looking  straight  into  his. 

"  Jack  !  "  she  gasped,  —  "  he  is  not  dead  !  " 

"  Not  dead  ?  But  he  was  drowned  when  the 
'  Gull '  went  down  !  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  And  is  he  still  alive?" 

"  He  was." 

"  When  ? " 


A   KNIGHT  OF  THE  HO  AD.  113 

"  Five  years  ago." 

"  You  saw  him  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

"  Did  he  write  ?  " 

Another  shake. 

He  looked  at  her  keenly.  A  new  idea  had 
come  into  his  brain. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder.  "  Mother,  it  makes  no  difference. 
What  you  have  concealed  so  long  shall  never 
pass  my  lips.  If  I  lost  one  mother  I  gained 
another,  and  I  could  no  more  harm  you  than 
her.  She  sleeps  in  peace.  Let  the  mystery  of 
her  death  sleep  with  her.  But  are  you  sure  you 
have  made  no  mistake  ?  Has  not  your  imagi 
nation,  your  horror,  led  you  to  think  —  to  be 
lieve  things  that  do  not  exist  ?" 

She  still  shook  her  head. 

"  But  how  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear. 

"  It  cannot  be  hid  much  longer,"  she 
whispered. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked,  watching  her  closely. 

"  There  's  one  other  that  knows  !  " 

"  Another !  " 

"  The  dead  !  "  she  whispered  hoarsely,  —  "  the 
dead  that  cannot  rest  in  peace  !  " 


1 14  BUTTON'S  INN. 

His  face  lightened.  She  was  evidently 
insane. 

"  There,  there,  Mother,"  he  said,  laying  a 
hand  upon  her  head  soothingly,  "  don't  be 
troubled  ;  all  will  come  right.  You  have  let 
your  mind  dwell  upon  these  matters  until  things 
have  become  real  that  never  existed.  I  cannot 
believe  what  you  say,  and  you  must  not  believe 
it.  Put  it  all  away,  Mother,  and  don't  bother 
Dotty.  She  will  always  do  what  is  right,  as  I 
am  sure  you  have  done." 

His  tenderness  broke  down  the  woman's  ob 
durate  endurance. 

"  Don't,  Ozro,  don't !  "  she  whispered,  while 
her  lips  trembled.  "  You  are  too  good  to  me. 
I  must  tell  the  truth  though,  now.  Perhaps  I 
have  waited  too  long.  I  am  not  crazy.  I  —  I  — 
could  show  you "  —  she  hesitated.  "  Yes,  I 
must  show  you.  Look  here  !  " 

She  turned  quickly,  went  across  the  room, 
and  opening  the  door  of  the  closet  under  the 
overhang  of  the  old  log-house  stepped  within. 
As  she  did  so  a  shrill,  unearthly  shriek,  another, 
and  another  came  from  its  depths. 

For  an  instant  the  young  man  stood  paralyzed 
by  what  he  heard.  Then  he  started  forward, 
but  before  he  could  reach  the  closet  door  she 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD.  115 

sprang  out,  closed  it,  and  stood  with  her  back 
against  it,  her  hands  clasped  over  her  heart, 
her  lips  apart,  but  moving  rapidly,  though  with 
strange  rigidity  of  outline.  He  reached  out  his 
hands  to  grasp  her  arms,  but  she  avoided  them 
with  a  wriggling,  sidewise  motion,  still  keeping 
her  back  against  the  door.  She  seemed  strug 
gling  to  speak,  but  for  a  moment  not  a  whis 
per  could  be  heard.  She  could  only  shake  her 
head  pathetically  as  she  looked  beseechingly  at 
him. 

"  Don't,  Ozro,  don't ! "  came  at  length,  more 
a  sibilant  breath  than  a  distinct  sound.  "  Not 
now  —  not  now  !  Some  other  time  —  some 
other  time !  O  God !  My  punishment  is 
greater  than  I  can  bear!" 

She  fell  forward  against  him,  rigid  and  lifeless 
except  for  the  gasping,  stertorous  breath.  Her 
eye-balls  were  convulsively  upturned,  and  great 
bubbles  formed  within  the  half-opened  lips. 
When  they  broke  he  saw  that  the  worn,  dis 
colored  teeth  were  shut  close  upon  her  tongue, 
which  protruded  slightly  between  them.  Out 
side  he  could  hear  that  all  was  in  an  uproar. 
He  made  haste  to  place  her  upon  the  bed  and 
open  the  door,  at  which  Dotty  stood,  knocking 
and  calling.  He  had  not  noticed  that  it  was 


Il6        :  BUTTON'S  INN. 

locked.  Laying  the  unconscious  form  upon  the 
bed,  he  turned  the  key. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  the  daughter,  enter 
ing  swiftly  and  closing  the  door  behind  her. 
The  young  man  made  a  gesture  toward  the 
bed. 

"  She  is  having  one  of  her  spells,"  said  the 
girl,  coolly  passing  her  hand  under  her  mother's 
head  and  raising  it  so  as  to  place  a  pillow  un 
derneath.  "  Lock  the  door,  Ozro.  Don't  let  any 
one  in.  She  '11  be  better  in  a  little  while." 

"  I  never  knew  —  has  she  been  so  before  ?  " 

"  Only  once  or  twice,"  she  answered  quietly. 
"  She  won't  like  anybody  round  when  she  comes 
to.  She  's  always  out  of  her  head  then,  and 
goes  on  dreadfully  sometimes.  You  better  go, 
I  guess,"  she  added  anxiously.  "  I  can  take 
care  of  her." 

He  started  toward  the  door  reluctantly.  She 
stopped  him  as  his  hand  was  on  the  latch. 

"  The  screams,  Ozro,  —  did  she  hear  them  ?  " 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

* 

"  Were  n't  they  awful  ?  "  She  shuddered  as 
she  spoke.  He  did  not  answer.  She  looked  up 
at  him  and  started  suddenly  as  she  caught  his 
gaze.  Removing  her  hand  from  her  mother's 
brow  she  came  quickly  and  laid  it  on  his  arm. 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  ROAD.  1 1/ 

"  Was  it  —  Ma  ?  "  she  asked  breathlessly. 
"  Did  —  did  she  scream  ?  " 

"  Your  mother  ?  Scream  ?  "  said  the  young 
man  in  a  curious,  absent  manner.  "  No." 

She  looked  at  him  keenly,  shivered  a  little, 
and  went  back  to  the  bedside.  He  opened  the 
door  and  passed  out. 


A  COMMERCIAL  VIEW. 

you  want  to  ride  as  far  as  the  vil- 
lage,  Evans  ?  " 

Dewstowe  asked  the  question  carelessly,  as 
he  stood  beside  his  wagon  smoking  a  cigar  and 
drawing  on  his  gloves  the  morning  after  the 
events  of  the  last  chapter. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Ozro,  dubiously,  as 
he  hitched  the  leaders'  evener  to  the  end  of  the 
pole.  "  I  thought  of  going  that  way." 

This  hesitating  acceptance  of  a  proffered  fa 
vor  was  a  curious  characteristic  of  the  popular 
manners  of  that  period.  To  have  accepted  a 
favor  without  offering  an  apology  for  so  doing, 
would  almost  seem  to  have  been  considered  in 
consistent  with  the  dignity  of  the  American  of 
that  day.  This  resulted  both  from  the  univer 
sal  instinct  of  self-maintenance,  which  made  de 
pendence  upon  another  almost  discreditable,  and 
from  that  innate  modesty  of  the  American  peo 
ple  to  which  scant  justice  has  been  done  both 
by  our  own  writers  and  the  superficial  observers 


A    COMMERCIAL  VIEW.  119 

of  foreign  birth,  who  have  mistaken  a  lack  of 
formality  for  absence  of  feeling.  To  Dickens, 
Matthew  Arnold,  the  authors  of  the  endless 
series  of  novels  founded  on  American  manner 
isms,  and  the  whole  host  of  mere  surface-seers 
the  ordinary  American  is  simply  a  rough  un 
mannerly  cub,  fit  only  to  be  made  a  mark  for 
ridicule.  To  De  Tocqueville,  Miss  Martineau, 
Herbert  Spencer,  and  all  to  whom  motive  is  of 
greater  significance  than  its  expression,  Amer 
ican  life,  until  the  worship  of  wealth  took  from 
it  much  of  its  distinctiveness,  was  characterized 
by  a  hesitancy  to  accept  favor  at  another's  hands, 
which  was  unique  in  its  assumption  of  indif 
ference,  and  sometimes  almost  churlish  in  its 
expression  of  acknowledgment,  as  if  it  somehow 
feared  that  gratitude  might  be  construed  as  an 
indication  of  servility.  It  did  not  produce  an 
altogether  pleasing  effect  on  the  unaccustomed 
observer,  but  it  was  the  index  of  a  manhood 
too  proud  to  ask  for  favor,  which  laid  the  obli 
gation  of  request  upon  the  donor  rather  than 
the  recipient.  It  was  indicative,  too,  of  an 
inherent  hospitality,  which  offered  without  re 
luctance,  gave  without  expecting  thanks,  and 
apologized  only  for  causing  discomfort  or  incon 
venience  to  others.  Who  that  remembers  the 


120  BUTTON'S  INN. 

road  before  the  railway  robbed  the  turnpike  of 
the  character  of  a  highway  and  made  the  foot 
passenger  prima  facie  an  object  of  suspicion, 
does  not  recall  the  almost  universal  rule  which 
required  the  driver  of  a  vehicle  not  too  heavily 
loaded  to  offer  the  pedestrian  a  "lift;"  and 
who  ever  knew  this  offer  to  be  accepted,  even 
by  the  weariest  wayfarer,  without  apclogy?  For 
a  like  reason  we  were  not  profuse  in  the  ac 
knowledgment  of  favors.  The  Frenchman's 
easy  effusiveness  is  as  foreign  to  the  Ameri 
can  character  as  the  careless  yet  apologetic 
"Thanks,  awfully,  you  know,"  of  the  middle- 
class  Englishman,  or  the  surly  silence  of  the 
peasant.  The  American  "  I  'm  much  obliged," 
no  matter  with  what  lack  of  grace  pronounced, 
nor  how  much  the  final  syllable  was  flatted 
and  prolonged,  was  the  very  essence  of  self- 
respecting  gratitude.  It  never  came  easily,  and 
was  never  uttered  with  flippancy.  It  was  the 
serious  acknowledgment  compelled  by  an  act 
ual  sense  of  duty,  of  a  favor  which  the  recip 
ient  felt  somehow  that  he  ought  hardly  to  have 
taxed  the  giver's  kindness  to  bestow.  There 
was  nothing  grudging  or  surly  about  it,  as  so 
many  have  seemed  to  think,  but  only  the  mod 
est  shame-facedness  of  a  people  who  thought 


A    COMMERCIAL   VIEW.  121 

the  acceptance  of  a  favor  hardly  consistent  with 
that  wonderful  self-reliance  which  is  the  main 
spring  of  American  life,  and  to  which  was  due 
that  individualism  of  character  and  rage  of 
self-achievement  which  made  our  first  century 
of  national  life  so  fecund  in  marvellous  results. 

Dewstowe  was  not  at  all  surprised,  therefore, 
at  this  hesitant  acknowledgment  of  his  kindly 
proffer.  Despite  the  fact  that  Ozro  had  been 
until  that  morning  merely  a  "bound  boy,"  and 
was  still  the  hostler  of  the  Inn,  while  Dewstowe 
was  already  a  man  of  substance,  and  evidently 
predestined  to  achieve  distinction  in  that  barony 
of  wealth  to  which  our  American  millionnaires 
belong,  there  was  no  social  inequality  between 
them.  The  possibilities  of  all  lives  were  then 
so  nearly  equal,  that  the  wealthiest  hardly  stood 
above  the  lowliest  in  popular  regard.  The 
golden  scales  in  which  merit  of  all  kinds  is  now 
weighed  were  not  yet  adjusted  to  show  the  del 
icate  gradations  that  mark  the  life  of  to-day. 
Men  met  upon  the  level  of  manhood,  and  it  was 
hardly  considered  presumptuous  for  the  poorest 
and  humblest  to  aspire  to  a  marital  alliance  with  ' 
even  the  wealthiest  nabob  in  the  land. 

"Well,"  responded  the  pedler,  jocularly,  "had 
n't  you  rather  ride  than  walk  ?  " 


122  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  assented  Ozro  with  a  smile ; 
"but  it  will  take  me  a  little  while  to  get  ready." 

"All  right,"  said  Dewstowe,  climbing  to  his 
seat,  "  I  'm  in  no  hurry.  Throw  me  that  off  rein, 
if  you  please.  All  right,"  he  continued,  catch 
ing  it  skilfully  as  it  came  uncoiling  swiftly 
from  the  other's  hand.  "Just  shift  those  inside 
checks,  won't  you  ?  The  near  one  should  be 
on  top." 

While  Ozro  was  attending  to  this,  the  mer 
chant  amused  himself  by  showing  his  mastery 
over  the  dog,  which  had  already  mounted  to  its 
usual  place  and  was  surveying  the  preparations 
for  departure  with  evident  approval.  He  ac 
knowledged  his  master's  presence  by  running 
his  great  red  tongue  rapidly  out  and  in  between 
the  fore-shortened  upper  jaw  and  the  formidable 
row  of  ivory  that  encircled  it  below,  and  weaving 
back  and  forth  on  the  seat  in  an  apparently  vain 
attempt  to  wag  his  much  abbreviated  tail. 

"  Here,  Turk,  you  brute !  get  back  there  and 
make  room  for  your  betters."  Dewstowe  snapped 
his  fingers  as  he  spoke,  and  pointed  to  the  railed 
top  of  the  wagon-box  behind.  The  dog  merely 
glanced  in  the  direction  indicated  and  turned 
his  face  again  to  the  front,  evidently  preferring 
his  location  on  the  cushion. 


A    COMMERCIAL    VIEW.  123 

"  What !  you  won't  ?  Well,  we  '11  see.  Back, 
I  say ! " 

The  dog  did  not  move.  The  master  took  the 
cigar  from  his  mouth,  knocked  the  ashes  off  the 
end,  and  held  it  toward  the  dog,  pointing  back 
ward  at  the  same  time  with  his  whip.  The  ani 
mal  drew  away  from  the  live  coal  in  evident 
trepidation,  and  began  picking  his  way  rather 
daintily  over  the  lowered  top  to  the  place  indi 
cated,  where  he  seated  himself  with  an  unmis 
takable  look  of  offended  dignity. 

"  That  fetches  him  every  time,"  said  the 
owner,  with  a  laugh.  "  He  gets  wicked  some 
times.  Tried  it  once  at  a  blacksmith's  shop, 
and  I  let  him  bite  a  piece  of  hot  iron.  Has  n't 
had  any  appetite  for  fire  since.  It  was  a  cold 
day,  you  see,  and  he  climbed  the  forge  and  kind 
of  took  possession  on  his  own  account.  After 
a  while  he  got  a  notion  that  the  smith  worked 
the  bellows  just  to  blow  sparks  at  him,~and  so 
went  for  the  man's  arm.  Of  course  I  interfered, 
and  then  he  turjied  on  me.  I  grabbed  a  nail-rod, 
most  white-hot,  out  of  the  fire  and  stuck  it  in 
his  face.  He  did  n't  flinch  a  hair,  but  just  eyed 
it  a  second,  his  eyes  looking  almost  as  wicked 
as  the  iron,  and  then  he  bounced  it  with  a  roar. 
He  did  n't  hang  on  long,  though,  and  has  never 


124  BUTTON'S  INN. 

shown  me  the  whites  of  his  eyes  since.  I  al 
ways  have  my  own  way,  you  see,  and  never 
make  any  fuss  about  it  either.  Are'  you  ready  ?" 

"  I  will  be  in  a  moment,"  responded  Ozro. 
Running  toward  the  house,  he  soon  reappeared 
carrying  a  small  package,  which  he  placed  care 
fully  inside  the  curved  dashboard  before  taking 
his  place  beside  the  merchant-prince  of  the 
road. 

"  You  handle  that  as  if  there  were  eggs  in  it," 
laughed  the  other,  flecking  the  whip  toward  the 
box. 

"Well,"  said  Ozro,  as  he  rolled  down  his 
sleeves  and  drew  on  his  coat,  "  I  hope  there 
are." 

He  took  his  seat.  Dewstowe  cracked  his  whip, 
the  dog  gave  an  impatient  whine,  the  four  horses 
sprang  into  their  collars  at  the  same  instant,  and 
Dotty,  standing  on  the  porch,  waved  a  good-by 
to  her  curiously-contrasted  lovers  as  they  dashed 
off  toward  the  village. 

"  Nice  girl !  "  said  the  knight  of  the  road,  when 
he  had  drawn  in  his  horses  after  the  flourish  with 
which  he  left  the  Inn  ;  "  nice  girl !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ozro,  seeing  that  he  was  expected 
to  say  something. 

"  Queer,    though,"     continued     the     driver  ; 


A   COMMERCIAL    VIEW.  125 

"  deuced  queer  !  All  of  'em  queer  !  "  pointing 
with  his  whip  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  Inn. 
"  Old  man  and  his  wife  both  crazy,  I  guess  ; 
but  the  girl,  —  she's  just  as  bright  as  they 
make  'em.  She  's  A-l,  all  wool,  doubled-and- 
twisted,  superfine,  and  a  yard  wide  !  No 
doubt  about  that  ;  but  she  's  queer,  —  blamed 
if  she  ain't  !  What  do  you  suppose  she  told 
rne  last  night  ?  " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Ozro,  some 
what  cautiously. 

"  It  was  while  you  were  in  there  with  the  old 
woman.  By  the  way,  was  n't  that  a  devil  of  a 
row  ?  What  was  it  all  about  ?  You  don't  know  ? 
Well,  nor  I  either.  I  vow,  those  screeches 
fairly  made  my  hair  stand  up !  I  never  heard 
such  unearthly  sounds  before.  I  would  have 
gone  in  with  Miss  Dotty,  but  she  sent  me  back 
in  a  way  that  showed  she  was  in  command  of 
that  schooner,  and  would  n't  stand  no  nonsense! 
Bosses  everything,  don't  she?  I  thought  so. 
Well,  she's  smart,  and  no  mistake.  Old  man 
Lonny,  he  was  regularly  upset ;  began  pottering 
around,  muttering  about  the  ghost  and  piling  on 
the  wood  as  if  he  expected  to  roast  the  evil  spirit 
out.  Queer,  is  n't  it,  his  idea  of  the  Devil  being 
afraid  of  fire,  like  Turk  here  ?  As  if  it  was  n't 


126  BUTTON'S  INN. 

the  very  thing  he  is  most  used  to.  Who  was 
it  did  the  war-whoops,  anyhow  ?  Not  the  old 
woman,  I  s'pose  ? " 

Ozro  shook  his  head. 

"  Thought  not.  She  has  n't  spoken  above  a 
whisper  in  years,  they  tell  me.  Not  so  bad  a 
thing  for  a  pair  that  don't  get  along  any  better 
than  they  do.  The  old  man  doesn't  seem  to 
appreciate  the  blessing,  though.  He  even  com 
plains  about  it,  and  lays  that  to  the  account  of 
the  ghost,  too.  Told  me  all  about  it  last  night. 
He  saw  it  once,  —  that  is,  the  ghost,  —  or  thinks 
he  did;  and  shot  at  it  with  a  silver  bullet, — 
and  all  that  sort  of  old-time  notions.  He  says 
his  wife  has  n't  been  the  same  sort  of  woman 
since  that  time.  Last  night 's  the  first  time 
he's  heard  it  do  the  real  whooping  business 
since ;  and  in  all  that  time  he  says  she  has  n't 
been  able  to  speak  aloud.  Queer !  I  never 
could  make  her  out,  for  she  never  wasted  much 
breath  on  me,  even  in  whispers.  Lonny  says 
she 's  very  fond  of  you.  Well,  that 's  right.  I  'm 
sure  she  ought  to  be.  Anybody  can  see  they'd 
have  gone  to  the  dogs  long  ago  without  you,  — 
before  Dotty  grew  up,  that  is.  The  old  man 
don't  seem  to  lavish  any  great  amount  of  affec 
tion  in  that  way,  though.  I  expect  Miss  Dotty 


A    COMMERCIAL   VIEW.  I2/ 

sides  with  her  mother,  eh  ?  You  don't  know  ? 
Well,  a  man  is  n't  called  on  to  tell  the  truth 
unless  he  chooses.  For  me,  now,  I  always  tell 
it,  —  always." 

He  chirruped  gleefully  to  his  horses,  chuckled 
to  himself,  and  touched  up  the  off-leader  in  com 
placent  applause  of  his  own  jest. 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  tell  you  what  Dotty  said  to  me," 
the  pedler  continued,  "  did  I  ?  Got  off  the  sub 
ject,  you  see.  Well,  she  told  me  a  good  deal ; 
among  other  things,  that  you  were  twenty-one 
to-day,  and  going  off  to  seek  your  fortune." 

The  young  man  blushed  violently  as  his  volu 
ble  companion  paused  for  a  reply,  and  answered 
somewhat  confusedly,  — 

"  Well,  not  to-day.     I  stay  till  Christmas." 

"Yes;  she  told  me  that,  too.  Well,  that's 
good  of  you.  Hard  for  'em  to  get  along  with 
out  you,  I  s'pect,  even  with  Dotty's  help.  Rough 
on  her,  too,  to  run  the  concern  alone.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  Don't  know  ?  Well,  the 
world's  wide.  You'll  find  something,  I  don't 
doubt.  Any  fancy  for  trade  ?  Thought  not. 
You  might  acquire  a  taste  for  it  —  perhaps  ! 
You  're  smart  enough,  and  not  bad  looking  if — • 
if  you  had  something  to  wear." 

He  glanced  at  his  companion,  to  whom  this 


128  BUTTON'S  INN. 

remark  made  the  homespun  he  wore  almost  as 
uncomfortable  as  the  shirt  of  Nessus. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  go  on  the  road  now, 
and  drive  a  span  like  those  leaders  ?  Ain't  a 
bad  thing,  is  it  ?  If  you  had  a  little  experience 
—  now,  see  here,  Mr.  Evans,"  —  it  was  almost 
the  first  time  that  Ozro  had  ever  been  given  that 
title,  and  he  started  at  being  thus  addressed, — 
"  I  'm  going  out  of  this  business  pretty  soon  : 
can't  afford  to  stay  in  it  ;  got  a  better  thing 
on  hand,  you  know.  Now,  why  not  work  for  me 
a  year  or  two,  and  take  the  business,  or  a  part 
of  it,  when  I  drop  it  ?  It  would  take  you  a  while 
to  get  broken  in,  of  course  ;  but  it 's  a  chance 
that  don't  come  to  a  man  every  day.  What  do 
you  say  ? " 

Ozro  thanked  him,  but  said  he  had  no  taste 
for  such  a  life,  and  no  desire  to  engage  in  it. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  merchant,  gayly ; 
"  then,  of  course,  you  'd  better  not  try  to  work 
that  lay.  I  just  thought  I  might  do  you  a  good 
turn  and  not  do  myself  any  harm,  you  know. 
The  fact  is,  Miss  Dotty  seems  so  interested  in 
you  I  could  n't  help  showing  my  good-will.  So 
you  '11  stay  right  on  ? " 

"  Till  the  year  ends,  —  yes." 

"  And  after  that  ? 


A    COMMERCIAL   VIEW.  12$ 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  West  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  See  here,  Evans,  we  may  as  well  be  square 
with  each  other.  You  know  I  think  a  good 
deal  of  Dotty,  and  I  expect  you  have  the  same 
symptoms. 

His  companion  said  nothing. 

"  Well,  silence  gives  consent.  Now,  what  do 
you  suppose  she  told  me  last  night  ?  Could  n't 
guess  ?  I  believe  you.  Nobody  'd  ever  guess. 
Well,  sir,  she  told  me  —  J.  Dewstowe,  of  New 
York  —  that  she  could  n't  marry  me.  Mind 
you,  she  did  n't  say  she  would  n't,  but  she 
could  rit.  And  what  reason  do  you  suppose 
she  gave?" 

Ozro's  heart  beat  so  wildly  he  thought  he  was 
going  to  fall  from  his  perch,  and  clasped  the  arm 
of  the  seat  to  hold  himself  in  position. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  could  guess  that,  either  ? 
Well,  sir,  she  told  me  she  would  have  to  marry 
you  and  stay  and  take  care  of  the  old  folks  ; 
keep  up  the  old  Inn  and  look  after  the  ghost,  I 
suppose  —  there  won't  be  anything  else  to  look 
after  pretty  soon.  Travel  and  trade  's  all  going 
another  way.  If  it  wasn't  for  my  influence  on 
the  road  I  guess  they  would  n't  get  much  now." 
9 


130  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  That  's  what  Dotty  says,"  replied  Ozro, 
simply. 

"Does,  eh?  Well,  she's  right,  ain't  she? 
She 's  smart,  she  is.  I  tell  you  what,  it 's  a 
shame  to  think  of  that  girl  staying  there  slav 
ing  for  those  two  old  mummies,  and  trying  to 
make  a  living  out  of  nothing !  You  think  so, 
too  ?  Of  course  you  do.  Any  decent  man 
would.  And  yet  you  're  the  very  cause  of  her 
doing  it.  How  ?  Why,  she  feels  under  obliga 
tion  to  you  on  her  parents'  account,  don't  you 
see?  It  seems  you  haven't  been  treated  just 
right,  and  she  feels  bound  to  make  it  up  to  you, 
you  know.  Very  natural,  —  very  creditable,  too, 
I  am  sure,  to  her.  But  what  about  the  man  that 
allows  her  to  do  it  ?  You  have  n't  asked  her  to 
do  it  for  your  sake  ?  Of  course  not ;  but  you 
know  that 's  what  she  's  going  to  to  do  it  for, 
all  the  same. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Ozro,"  he  continued,  "  that 
girl  ought  to  marry  a  man  with  money.  You 
think  so,  too  ?  The  dickens  you  do  !  and  yet  you 
propose  to  marry  her  yourself?  You  haven't 
said  so?  Of  course  not.  You  don't  need  to  say 
it.  Anybody  can  see  what  will  be  the  upshot, 
the  way  things  are  going  on  in  that  old  Inn 
these  days.  I  don't  doubt  you  love  her;  but 


A    COMMERCIAL    VIEW.  131 

you  don't  realize  what  you're  doing  when  you 
ask  her  to  marry  you.  I  s'pose,  of  course,  you  '11 
make  a  living  of  some  sort.  It 's  hard  for  a  man 
to  fail  of  that  in  this  country,  if  he 's  willing  to 
work.  But  before  you  could  get  ahead  any 
she  'd  be  worn  out  taking  care  of  the  old  folks 
and  trying  to  keep  up  her  end.  She  'd  do  that, 
you  know,  if  she  killed  herself  at  it.  Love  is 
a  good  thing,  no  doubt,  and  a  handy  thing  in  a 
family  ;  but  one  can't  live  on  it  any  more  'n  a 
mouse  can  live  on  religion,  which  is  the  reason 
there  is  n't  any  such  a  thing  as  a  church-mouse, 
in  spite  of  all  we  hear  about  it.  I  think  some 
times,  though,  there  is  n't  much  difference  be 
tween  what  we  call  love  and  selfishness.  If  you 
really  loved  her  now  —  " 

"  I  love  her  so  well  I  'd  be  willing  to  die  for 
her,"  said  Ozro,  hotly. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  the  imperturbable 
merchant ;  "  but  you  see  it  don't  happen  to  be 
exactly  that  sort  of  goods  she's  in  need  of  just 
now.  Your  dying  would -n't  do  her  a  cent's 
worth  of  good.  In  fact,  it  would'  be  about  the 
only  thing  that  could  make  matters  any  worse 
for  her  if  you  should  really  marry.  As  for  me, 
now,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  even  tone,  "  I 
don't  pretend  to  very  much  sentiment.  I  sup- 


132  BUTTON'S  INN. 

pose  I  'd  stand  between  her  and  danger  —  if  I 
had  to.  'Most  any  man  would.  In  that  way 
I  might  possibly  die  for  her.  But  I  don't  han 
ker  after  any  such  job ;  and  as  for  going  out 
and  just  offering  myself  up,  dry  so,  just  to  in 
crease  her  stock  of  happiness,  why,  blame  me, 
I  don't  mind  saying  I  wouldn't  do  it.  That's 
all  there  is  of  it  —  I  would  n't." 

"  I  would"  said  Ozro,  fervently. 

Dewstowe  looked  his  companion  steadily  in 
the  eye,  shifting  his  cigar  from  one  side  of  his 
mouth  to  the  other  by  a  peculiar  motion  of  his 
lips  as  he  did  so. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  he  had  concluded  his 
inspection,  "  I  ain't  sure  but  you  would.  You  're 
one  of  that  sort.  Your  mother  killed  herself, 
did  n't  she  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know !  "  said  Ozro,  pale  to  his  lips 
with  anger. 

"  I  don't  mean  no  offence,  Mr.  Evans,"  said 
the  other  in  a  softened  tone.  "  I  was  just  think 
ing  that  probably  it  was  love  that  drove  her  to 
it.  Them  's  the  kind  that  do  most  usually 
die  for  love.  'Tain't  no  reflection  on  them, 
that  they  love  more  desperately  than  others, 
—  perhaps  they  are  all  the  better  for  it ;  but 
as  the  man  we  'd  both  like  to  have  for  a 


A    COMMERCIAL    VIEW.  133 

father-in-law  says,  ''Tain't  nateral  —  'tain't 
nateral.' " 

He  mimicked  the  old  man  with  such  ready 
accuracy  that  Ozro  could  not  help  laughing, 
though  he  was  bursting  with  rage  at  the  man's 
coolness. 

"No,"  continued  the  other,  "it  isn't  natural, 
and  it  is  n't  pleasant,  either.  You  're  one  of 
that  sort,  I  do  believe.  I  like  you  for  it,  and 
I  'm  sorry  for  you,  too.  I  could  n't  do  it  any 
more  'n  you  could  do  what  I  would.  I  could 
live  for. her,  now;  take  care  of  her;  give  her 
comfort,  ease,  luxury,  and  only  ask  a  chance  to 
work  for  her.  I  can  make  her  happy,  you  see, 
while  you  —  " 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Dewstowe  !  "  said  the  young 
man,  turning  on  him  with  flaming  eyes,  "  don't 
let 's  talk  of  this  any  more.  If  I  cannot  make 
Dotty  Button  happy,  —  if  she  would  not  rather 
face  life  with  me  than  with  you  or  any  one  else 
on  earth, —  I  don't  want  her  to  marry  me,  and 
she  shall  not,  either.  The  only  thing  any  man 
has  a  right  to  think  of  is  the  happiness  of  the 
woman  he  loves,  and  his  love  is  not  worth  the 
name  if  it  takes  any  account  of  his  own  comfort 
or  enjoyment  in  comparison  with  hers." 

"  Now  you  're  talking  by  the  yardstick,"  said 


134  BUTTON'S  INN. 

the  merchant,  with  approving  emphasis.    "  If  you 
only  had  nerve  to  practise  what  you  preach  ! " 

"  Practise  what  I  preach  ?  Why,  Mr.  Dew- 
stowe,  if  I  thought  she  'd  be  happier  with  you 
I  'd  get  out  of  your  way  to-morrow." 

"  Would  yon,  though  ?  "  said  the  other,  keenly. 
"That's  business,  now.  I'd  make  it  worth  your 
while  too,  —  I  would,  I  vow." 

Ozro  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  Then  the 
oddity  of  the  proposal  struck  him,  and  he  said 
with  a  quiet  laugh,  — 

"I  said  'if,'  Mr.  Dewstowe,  —  'if  I  thought 
she  would  be  happier." 

"  Of  course  you  did,"  was  the  cool  reply;  "but 
it  was  n't  necessary.  Anybody  that 's  got  half 
a  grain  of  common-sense  can  see  that  she  would 
be.  That  follows,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

This  was  too  much  for  Ozro's  equanimity,  and 
he  roared  with  laughter. 

"  That  is  for  her  to  decide,  is  n't  it  ? "  he  asked 
when  he  could  control  himself. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  the  other,  complacently, 
"  unless  we  should  decide  it  for  her." 

"  No,  no  !  we  can't  do  that.  Let  her  deter 
mine  what  will  give  her  most  happiness,  and  let 
us  abide  by  her  decision." 

"  Well,  that's  fair,"  said  the  merchant,  "  we  '11 


A    COMMERCIAL   VIEW.  135 

put  the  question  to  her  squarely,  and  take  the 
consequences.  Give  us  your  hand." 

They  shook  hands  good-naturedly.  Dewstowe 
threw  away  his  cigar,  and  started  his  horses  into 
a  brisk  trot. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Evans,  you  are  a  sensible 
fellow.  I  regard  the  matter  as  good  as  settled. 
Of  course,  she  can't  decide  but  one  way  on  those 
terms.  That 's  sense,  you  see  —  leaves  out  sen 
timent,  and  comes  down  to  the  clear  hard-pan  of 
every-day  life.  She  just  has  to  say  which  can 
make  her  happiest.  I  vow,  Evans,  I  think  you 
have  made  a  bad  bargain.  I  believe  she  likes 
you  better  than  she  does  me,  but  when  it  comes 
to  talking  of  happiness,  and  she  looks  forward 
to  working  all  her  life  and  having  nothing  when 
it  is  over — by  George,  man!  when  it  comes  to 
that,  she  's  bound  to  decide  for  me.  But  I  won't 
forget  you,  old  fellow,  I  won't  for  a  fact,"  he  con 
tinued,  slapping  the  other's  knee  ;  "  you  shall 
have  a  start  in  anything  you  want  to  go  into." 

"  I  shall  not  want  your  money,  sir,  if  that  is 
her  decision,"  said  Ozro,  angrily. 

"  Oh,  see  here,  don't  get  into  a  huff  over  it," 
said  the  imperturbable  tradesman.  "  Fair 's  fair, 
and  that 's  all  either  of  us  want.  Come  now, 
when  shall  the  matter  be  decided  ?  To-night  ?  " 


136  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  On  Christmas  day." 

"So  far  ahead?.  But  you  won't  take  any 
advantage,  —  get  her  to  make  any  promises,  I 
mean,  before  that  time  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word.'' 

"  All  right ;  Christmas  it  is,  then.  I  '11  go 
down  along  the  Conewango,  around  by  Warren 
and  Meadville,  and  back  by  Erie  in  time  to  eat 
my  Christmas  dinner  at  Button's.  I  'm  sure  to 
beat  you  —  it 's  my  luck,  you  see.  Besides  that, 
I  have  the  advantage.  But  don't  you  be  down 
hearted,  old  fellow,  and  don't  do  anything  rash. 
I  should  n't  if  I  knew  I  was  going  to  lose,  and 
I  do  hate  to  think  you  would.  If  you  were  as 
well  fixed  as  I  am,  I  tell  you  frankly  I  would  n't 
waste  my  time  trying  to  compete  with  you.  But 
that's  part  of  my  luck.  Yours  may  come  later. 
Ten  years  of  sharp  work  makes  a  good  deal  of 
difference.  I  wish  you  all  sorts  of  good  fortune 
up  to  Christmas,  and  afterward  too,  but  on  that 
day  the  worst  that  can  be  imagined." 

The  good-natured  salesman  laughed  heartily, 
threw  his  foot  upon  the  brake,  and  touched  up 
the  leaders  as  he  came  down  the  little  hill  that 
rises  above  the  county-seat  to  the  northward, 
and  saw  the  little  inland  lake  smiling  bright  be 
neath  the  autumn  sun  before  them. 


A    COMMERCIAL   VIEW.  137 

"  I  s'pose  you  'II  be  ready  to  go  back  before  I 
have  finished  with  my  customers.  I  may  go 
round  by  Tinkertown,  and  perhaps  climb  over 
the  hills  and  come  up  by  the  lake  road ;  but  you 
may  look  out  for  me  at  the  Inn  to-night,  sooner 
or  later.  Tell  Dotty  not  to  cry  her  pretty  eyes 
out  if  I  should  be  late.  Good-by." 

The  self-confident  tradesman  hitched  his 
horses  in  front  of  the  principal  store  in  the 
village,  entered  it  past  a  group  of  gaping  rus 
tics,  helped  himself  from  a  jug  of  Jamaica  rum 
that  stood  on  the  counter  near  the  door,  with 
a  tumbler  and  a  measure  of  molasses  beside 
a  pitcher  of  water,  mixed  a  glass  of  "  black 
strap,"  tossed  it  off,  and  at  once  entered  into 
negotiations  with  the  proprietor  for  a  supply 
of  those  things  which  a  glance  at  the  shelves 
told  his  practised  eye  the  establishment  most 
required. 

Ozro  sauntered  along  the  streets,  his  precious 
parcel  under  his  arm,  until  he  came  opposite  a 
lawyer's  office,  which  he  entered  hesitantly.  It 
was  past  noon  when  he  started  on  his  way  home 
ward,  but  he  arrived  there  long  before  the  ped- 
ler,  and  found  Dotty  waiting  for  the  tale  of 
news  she  evidently  expected  him  to  bring.  To 
all  her  inquiries  he  responded  only  with  glow- 


138  BUTTON'S  INN. 

ing  descriptions  of  the  pedler's  possessions  and 
achievements. 

"Oh, bother  Mr.  Dewstowe!"  said  the  sprightly 
maiden,  with  a  pretty  grimace.  "  What  I  want 
to  know  is  what  you  had  in  that  box  you  were 
so  careful  of,  why  I  never  saw  it  before,  and 
what  you  have  done  with  it  ? " 

"That's  just  what  Mr.  Dewstowe  wanted  to 
find  out,  too.  He  kept  hitting  it  with  his  foot, 
every  now  and  then,  all  the  way  to  town." 

'•'  There  it  is  again,  —  Dewstowe  !  Dewstowe  ! 
One  would  think  you  were  a  parrot.  If  you 
don't  stop  saying  '  Dewstowe  !  Dewstowe ! '  to 
me,  I  '11  up  and  marry  him  in  self-defence  and  to 
punish  you  —  there!  " 

She  flung  a  defiant  look  at  him  as  she  left  the 
porch  to  enter  her  mother's  room. 

"  Dear  me ! "  said  the  young  man,  in  mock 
perplexity,  "that's  just  what  Dewstowe  said." 

She  was  beside  him  in  an  instant. 

"  Did  he  say  that,  Ozro  ?  Did  he  brag  to  you 
that  I  had  promised  to  marry  him  ?  " 

There  was  an  anxious,  tender  look  in  her  eyes 
that  made  his  heart  leap  ;  but  he  had  promised 
that  he  would  not  induce  her  to  commit  herself. 
Besides  that,  his  hopes  were  as  yet  only  hopes. 
Perhaps  he  would  never  dare  to  ask  her  to  share 


A   COMMERCIAL   VIEW.  139 

his  fortune  with  him.  So  he  dropped  his  ban 
tering  tone,  and  said  seriously, — 

"  No,  Dotty ;  he  spoke  only  respectfully  and 
kindly  of  you." 

She  turned  away  with  a  sigh  that  had  a  hint 
of  disappointment  in  it. 


A  MODERN   EPHESUS. 

IT  was  a  jolly  company  that  gathered  at  But 
ton's  that  night.  The  story  of  the  ghost's 
re-appearance  after  so  many  years  had  spread 
throughout  the  neighborhood,  and  many,  es 
pecially  of  the  younger  people,  had  come  to 
see  if  it  would  walk  again  ;  while  not  a  few 
of  their  elders  had  determined  to  renew  their 
memories  of  the  past  by  a  Saturday  evening 
at  the  old  Inn.  The  knights  of  the  road  had 
gathered  in  unusual  force,  and  of  every  con 
ceivable  type,  —  from  the  bearer  of  a  modest 
pack  of  Irish  linen,  whose  unmistakable  brogue 
was  a  sufficient  guarantee  of  the  genuineness 
of  his  stock,  to  a  vender  of  clocks  from  Con 
necticut,  whose  turnout  was  only  less  magnifi 
cent  than  that  of  Dewstowe  himself.  Among 
them  was  a  spectacled  German,  who  wore  a 
beard,  carried  a  pack  of  essences  and  perfu 
mery,  and  talked  with  strange  familiarity, 
though  in  broken  English,  of  things  beyond 
the  range  of  his  companions.  There  too  was 


A  MODERN  EPHESUS.  141 

the  inveterate  tin-pedler,  whose  lean  horse 
had  dragged  his  heterogeneous  load  up  the 
hill  to  the  barn-door  just  as  the  sun  went 
down.  His  wagon  was  heaped  with  bags  of  all 
sorts  and  sizes,  from  the  rents  of  which  pro 
truded  rags  of  all  grades  and  colors.  Wash 
basins,  dippers,  skillets,  and  various  other 
articles  of  domestic  use  hung  rattling  and 
clattering  against  the  side  of  the  vehicle.  The 
cart  itself  was  covered  with  so  many  and  such 
ancient  layers  of  mud  that  its  color  was  barely 
discoverable,  and  the  driver,  a  weazen-faced 
Yankee,  was  a  fit  companion  for  his  skeleton 
horse  and  dilapidated  wagon.  Some  half-a- 
dozen  young  men  with  packs  containing  a  lit 
tle  extra  clothing,  with  perhaps  a  book  or  two 
and  an  axe,  —  young  men  from  away  down  East 
going  West  to  seek  their  fortunes,  —  had  stopped 
to  pass  the  Sabbath  at  Button's,  influenced  not 
so  much  by  the  character  of  the  hostel  or  its 
surroundings  as  by  the  fact  that  its  charges 
were  less  than  at  the  crowded  taverns  on  the 
shore  road.  Most  of  them  carried  their  shoes, 
tied  together  by  the  strings,  across  the  sticks 
which  supported  their  packs.  These  washed 
their  feet  at  the  watering  trough  and  stood 
about  on  the  straw  of  the  barn-floor  while  they 


142  BUTTON'S  INN. 

were  drying,  before  putting  on  their  shoes  and 
stockings  and  approaching  the  house.  Most 
of  them  washed  their  hands  and  faces  at  the 
trough  too,  wiping  them  upon  a  great  towel 
which  hung  inside  the  feed-room  door,  and 
dressed  their  hair  with  curious  wooden  combs 
sawed  out  of  boxwood,  which  matched  together 
in  pairs,  the  teeth  of  one  fitting  into  a  tapering 
slot  running  along  the  back  of  the  other.  Each 
carried  a  pair  of  these  combs  in  his  vest  pocket. 
This  was  the  only  toilet  article  of  universal  use 
at  that  time.  Ozro's  mother  had  used  a  hair 
brush  during  her  stay  at  the  Inn,  and  the  fact 
was  still  recited  as  proof  of  her  aristocratic 
proclivities.  An  ivory-handled  tooth-brush  was 
also  found  among  her  effects.  These  were  still 
displayed  as  curiosities.  Mr.  Dewstowe  was 
known  to  be  the  owner  of  a  hair-brush,  and 
was  suspected  of  using  a  tooth-brush.  But  this 
was  a  mere  suspicion.  He  rather  enjoyed  being 
suspected  of  sybaritic  indulgence,  but  it  would 
have  injured  his  trade  to  have  had  it  known  that 
his  teeth  owed  any  of  their  whiteness  to  pow 
dered  charcoal  and  bristles. 

A  wash-bowl,  with  a  wooden  dish  full  of 
brown  soft  soap,  stood  on  the  back  porch  of  the 
Inn,  beside  a  great  rain-trough  that  stretched 


A  MODERN  EPHESUS.  143 

along  under  the  eaves,  while  against  the  wall 
a  lavish  supply  of  fresh  towels  hung  over  a 
long  roller ;  also  a  mirror  fully  a  foot  square 
framed  with  mahogany  veneer.  Beside  this 
hung,  by  a  stout  string,  a  horn  comb,  which 
showed  unmistakable  signs  of  age  in  the  fail 
ure  of  many  of  its  teeth  and  the  clogged  con 
dition  of  those  that  remained.  That  the  young 
wayfarers  did  not  choose  to  take  advantage 
of  these  luxuries,  which  were  free  to  all  the 
patrons  of  the  Inn,  was  no  doubt  due  to  the 
instinctive  desire  of  the  class  to  which  they 
belonged  to  make  as  good  an  impression  as 
possible  upon  their  fellows.  They  were  poor, 
and  in  a  sense  were  not  ashamed  of  their 
poverty ;  but  they  wished  it  to  be  distinctly 
understood  that  they  had  been  "  well-raised," 
as  the  expression  was  for  those  who  were  ac 
quainted  with  the  ways  of  good  society,  and 
expected  to  be  well  received  because  they 
showed  themselves  self-respecting.  One  of  them 
hesitantly  entered  into  conversation  with  Ozro, 
and  arranged  to  pay  for  his  entertainment  by 
assisting  in  taking  care  of  the  dozen  or  more 
horses  which  unexpectedly  demanded  attention. 
Immediately  upon  the  consummation  of  the 
bargain  the  stranger  took  off  his  coat,  rolled 


144  BUTJVN'S  INN. 

up  his  sleeves,  and  entered  heartily  upon 
his  task.  He  was  to  sleep  upon  the  hay  in 
the  mow,  as  were  most  of  his  companions,  the 
Inn  being  for  the  first  time  in  years  over-full. 
Two  of  them,  more  scrupulous  than  the  rest, 
occupied  the  last  moments  of  daylight  in  shav 
ing  upon  the  back  porch,  in  order  that  they 
might  not  be  tempted  to  profane  the  Sabbath 
by  such  unnecessary  labor. 

Among  others  who  came  that  night  was  a 
sallow,  thin-faced  man  with  a  long  dark  beard, 
and,  what  was  very  rare  in  that  day,  a  mustache. 
He  wore  a  wide-brimmed  felt  hat,  his  hair  hung 
upon  his  shoulders,  and  he  coughed  frequently. 
His  hands  were  thin,  and  his  eyes  burned 
brightly  under  his  dark,  knotted  brows.  He 
got  out  of  the  stage,  saying  he  was  too  tired 
to  go  any  farther.  He  had  been  West  for  years, 
he  told  the  landlord,  —  "down  the  river "  most 
of  the  time,  an  expression  indicating  the  Lower 
Mississippi.  He  had  money  enough,  and  pro 
posed  to  stay  at  the  Inn  till  he  got  well.  He 
wanted  the  room  next  to  the  public,  with  the 
window  opening  on  the  porch,  but  the  land 
lady  refused  to  give  it  up  even  to  accommo 
date  so  desirable  a  guest. 

The  night  was  cool,  though   so  early  in  the 


A   MODERN  EPHESUS.  145 

season.  The  wind  blew  off  the  lake,  carrying 
inland  a  heavy  bank  of  gray  clouds.  The  neigh 
bors  talked  of  frost  as  they  walked  up  the  path 
to  the  Inn.  A  great  fire  was  blazing  on  the 
hearth,  the  flames  roaring  up  the  black  chim 
ney's  throat,  when  the  company  assembled  in 
the  public-room  after  supper.  The  door  was 
open,  and  it  was  not  uncomfortable,  though  the 
company  sat  around  the  sides  of  the  room,  and 
some  of  them  smoked  their  pipes  upon  the 
porch,  or  gathered  about  the  open  door.  Very 
few  of  the  young  men  smoked.  Most  of  the 
elders  had  their  pipes.  Dewstowe  and  the 
stranger  from  the  South  smoked  cigars,  — 
the  latter,  long  slender  ones  of  dark  heavy 
tobacco,  which  reached  out  almost  to  the  edge 
of  the  sombrero  which  he  kept  always  upon 
his  head  "  to  avoid  taking  cold,"  he  said.  He 
sat  in  the  corner  of  the  fireplace,  too,  presum 
ably  for  the  same  reason. 

Dewstowe  was  the  life  of  the  company.  He 
had  engaged  the  landlord  to  brew  an  ample 
bowl  of  punch  after  a  recipe  he  was  said  to 
have  inherited  from  L'Honnete  Boutonne  the 
first,  and  he  from  some  still  more  remote  an 
cestor,  who  had  learned  the  secret  where  the 
wines  of  France  met  the  warmer  decoctions  of 


146  BUTTON'S  INN. 

tropic  lands  in  the  cellars  of  Bourdeaux.  The 
bowl  stood  steaming  on  the  table  by  the  door, 
and  the  travelling  merchant-prince  invited  the 
whole  company  to  partake.  The  landlord  sat 
beside  it  in  his  great  armchair,  filling  the  glasses 
from  a  curious  wooden  ladle,  whose  carvings 
unmistakably  betrayed  the  handicraft  of  the 
Indian.  This  too  was  an  heirloom,  and  the 
landlord  told  its  story  as  he  served  his  guests. 
There  was  a  little  rim  of  silver  abqut  its  top. 
The  wood  was  dark  and  had  singular  grainings, 
which  led  the  sceptical  to  doubt  the  story  of 
its  having  been  hollowed  by  fire  and  smoothed 
by  the  same  means  that  the  aborigines  used  to 
bore  holes  in  the  heads  of  their  stone  hatchets. 
The  landlord  was  in  radiant  humor  at  the  num 
ber  and  liberality  of  his  company  that  night, 
for  not  a  few  jorums  of  black-strap  had  been 
mixed  before  the  punch  was  ordered.  During 
a  pause  in  its  use,  the  bearded  stranger  took 
the  ladle  from  the  bowl  and  carefully  examined 
it  by  the  firelight.  There  was  a  smile  on  his 
face  as  he  returned  it  to  its  place. 

"Satisfied,  stranger?"  asked  the  landlord, 
petulantly. 

"  Quite,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  voice  but  little 
above  a  whisper. 


A   MODERN  EPHESUS. 


"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  Mexikin,"  answered  the  stranger. 

"  Then  how  came  it  here  ?  "  asked  the  land 
lord,  arrogantly. 

"  Suppose  you  tell  ?  "  was  the  stranger's  smil 
ing  response. 

"  Me  ?  Did  n't  I  jest  tell  ye  it  was  giv  to  my 
grandfayther  by  a  Onondagus  Injun  ?" 

"  Might  be,"  said  the  other,  quietly. 

"  Might  be  ?  I  tell  you  it  was  !  "  was  the  land 
lord's  angry  reply.  "  I  had  it  from  my  fayther, 
and  he  got  it  from  his,  and  I  guess  they  knew." 

"The  redskin  must,  have  been  quite  a  trav 
eller  then  ;  for  I  '11  swear  that  neither  the  ma 
terial  nor  the  workmanship  was  ever  found  this 
side  of  the  Rier  Grandy.  Ef  that  ain't  Navayoe 
work,  and  the  cup  the  shell  of  a  nut  that  don't 
grow  north  of  the  Red  River,  then  I  '11  eat  it, 
pewter  V  all,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Don't  quarrel  about  the  cup  and  leave  the 
company  to  die  of  thirst,"  said  Dewstowe,  mind 
ful  of  the  old  man's  irascible  nature.  "  If  there  's 
any  question  about  the  dipper,  refer  it  to  Carey," 
with  a  gesture  toward  the  tin-pedler  ;  "  only 
don't  let  him  touch  it  till  the  company  are 
through  drinking." 

A  laugh  followed  this  sally,  for  the  personal 


148  BUTTON'S  INN. 

habits  of  the  tinman  were  recognizable  upon  the 
most  cursory  inspection. 

"  By  the  way,  Carey,  how  often  do  you  wash 
your  hands,  or  feed  your  horse  ?  " 

"  About  twice  as  often  as  you  tell  the  truth 
about  yer  goods,"  drawled  the  tinman,  with  the 
utmost  nonchalance. 

"  Oh,  come,  now,"  said  Dewstowe,  when  the 
laugh  had  died  away,  "  that  may  do  as  to  your 
hands.  I  don't  blame  a  man  in  your  business 
for  being  afraid  to  use  a  public  washbowl,  —  dan 
ger  of  spreading  small-pox  and  other  diseases, 
you  know,  —  but  the  horse  tells  his  own  story. 
I  saw  the  crows  gathering  around  when  you 
stopped  in  front  of  the  barn  to-night." 

"  'T  won't  do  'em  any  good,"  said  Carey ;  "  he 's 
had  the  glanders  these  ten  years." 

"Glanders!"  exclaimed  Dewstowe,  jumping 
from  his  chair  excitedly,  "  what  right  have  you 
to  drive  a  glandered  horse  on  a  public  road  ? " 

Dewstowe  had  laid  his  hand  on  the  tinman's 
shoulder,  who  also  rose  and  stood  facing  him. 
The  dog  belonging  to  the  former,  which  had 
been  sitting  before  the  fire  rolling  his  red  eyes 
this  way  and  that  upon  the  company,  seeing  his 
master's  attitude,  advanced  upon  the  tinman,  his 
eyes  flashing,  his  white  teeth  gleaming  in  his  red 


A   MODERN  EPHESUS.  149 

muzzle,  bristling  and  growling,  evidently  ready 
to  spring  upon  his  master's  antagonist. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  drive  a  glandered 
crow:bait  ? "  repeated  Dewstowe,  half  in  earnest, 
for  he  began  to  see  that  the  laugh  was  against 
him,  and  wondered  how  he  should  get  out  of 
the  dilemma. 

"What  right?"  asked  the  tinman,  coolly; 
"  the  same  right  you  have  to  carry  about  a 
mangy  dog." 

The  roar  that  greeted  this  retort  carried  the 
victor  too  far.  He  aimed  a  kick  at  the  dog, 
thinking  to  add  to  his  rival's  discomfiture.  Of 
course  it  missed  its  mark.  There  was  an  angry 
roar,  and  the  next  minute  Dewstowe  was  on  the 
floor  tugging  away  at  the  dog's  collar,  and  shout 
ing  to  Carey  to  get  out  of  the  room. 

There  was  a  quick  scattering  of  the  guests, 
and  when  the  merchant  had  subdued  his  canine 
attendant  he  had  restored  himself  again  to  the 
post  of  honor  in  the  esteem  of  the  little  com 
pany.  His  action  had  been  timely  and  consid 
erate.  It  was  one  of  those  things  a  man  feels 
glad  to  have  done.  Glancing  toward  the  door 
Dewstone  was  not  sorry  to  see  Dotty,  with  one 
hand  upon  the  frame  of  the  door  opening  off 
the  porch  toward  the  dining-room,  and  the  other 


I5O  BUTTON'S  INN. 

holding  the  corner  of  her  white  apron  to  her  lips. 
It  had  required  both  strength  and  courage  to 
subdue  the  savage  brute,  and  he  felt  that  he 
must  have  risen  in  the  esteem  of  the  landlord's 
daughter  by  the  struggle  she  had  witnessed. 

The  promptness  of  his  action  restored  the 
entente  cordiale  in  the  company  which  his  rough 
jests  had  somewhat  disturbed.  The  tinman 
returned,  shook  hands  with  him,  and,  not  to  be 
outdone  in  courtesy,  ordered  the  punch-bowl  to 
be  replenished  at  his  own  expense. 

While  the  landlord  carried  the  bowl  to  the 
kitchen,  calling  for  Dotty  as  he  did  so  to  aid 
him  in  his  onerous  duty,  the  talk  turned  upon 
the  dog  and  his  kind.  Some  remarkable  stories 
were  told,  Dewstowe  taking  care  to  keep  the 
merits  of  his  own  really  valuable  animal  promi 
nently  before  the  little  group.  He  told  of  his 
various  exploits,  exhibited  his  teeth,  and  invited 
the  spectators  to  pass  their  hands  over  the  great 
flat  head  to  assure  themselves  that  no  antago 
nist  had  ever  "chawed  his  scalp."  Some  al 
lusion  having  been  made  to  his  qualities  as 
a  watch-dog,  feis  master  took  out  a  pocket- 
book,  and  laying  it  on  the  floor  beside  the  dog, 
said  :  — 

"  Care  for  it,  Turk  !  " 


A  MODERN  EPHESUS.  151 

Then  turning  to  the  company,  he  added 
carelessly,  — 

"  I  don't  know  just  exactly  how  much  there  is 
in  that  pocket-book,  but  if  any  of  you  want  to 
pick  it  up  without  using  any  more  of  a  weapon 
than  an  ordinary  walking-stick,  he'll  be  entirely 
welcome  to  what  there  is." 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Carey  ;  "  I  would  n't 
try  it  if  you  'd  put  up  your  team  and  stock  with 
it,  and  Heaven  knows  I  'd  be  glad  to  get  either 
by  any  honester  way  than  stealing." 

(<  Especially  the  team,"  said  Dewstowe. 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  the  other,  dryly  ;  "  and  I 
don't  mind  saying  I  believe  I  'd  take  the  risk  of 
being  caught  stealing  them  wheelers  if  I  had  a 
good  chance,  but  not  while  that  dog 's  in  the 
same  county  with  'em.  Just  tell  him  to  look  the 
other  way,  won't  you,  Dewstowe  ?  It  gives  me 
a  kind  of  crawly  feeling  in  the  calves  of  my  legs 
to  see  him  looking  this  way  and  sharpening  his 
upper  teeth  on  the  under  ones  in  that  damnable 
manner,  as  if  they  were  just  aching  for  a  piece 
of  fresh  meat  to  hold  'em  apart.  There,  that 's 
better  now," 

This  last  remark  was  the  result  of  the  dog's 
attention  being  diverted  by  the  entrance  of  Ozro, 
bearing  the  steaming  punch-bowl,  and  followed 


152  BUTTON'S  INN. 

by  the  landlord,  whose  steps  had  grown  too  un 
steady  to  permit  him  to  perform  this  duty, 
though  his  tongue  wagged  readily  enough  in 
unneeded  caution  to  the  young  man. 

Setting  the  bowl  upon  the  table  Ozro  looked 
around  upon  the  company  while  the  glasses 
were  being  refilled,  snapping  his  thumb  and 
finger  at  the  dog,  which  sat  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  guarding  the  treasure  intrusted  to  his  care. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  pick  up  that 
little  keepsake  between  his  feet,  Mr.  Evans," 
said  Dewstowe  in  a  sarcastic  tone. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  your  money,"  answered 
Ozro,  pleasantly.. 

"  Don't  want  it  ?  Ain't  we  high  and  mighty  ? 
One  would  think  you  had  the  United  States 
Bank  behind  you.  You  ain't  related  to  old  Nick 
Biddle  in  any  way,  are  you  ?  Really,  you  must 
be  uncommon  flush.  When  a  gentleman  lays 
down  his  pocket-book  and  invites  you  to  help 
yourself,  you  just  say,  '  No,  I  thank  you  ;  haven't 
any  need  for  filthy  lucre  1 '  That 's  your  posi 
tion,  I  believe." 

The  king  of  the  mercantile  nomads  blew  the 
smoke  from  his  cigar,  and  glanced  complacently 
in  the  direction  of  the  door,  beyond  which  he 
caught  sight  of  Dotty  watching  interestedly 


A   MODERN  EPHESUS.  153 

what  was  going  on  in  the  room.  The  sarcasm 
was  appreciated  by  his  auditors,  and  rewarded 
by  a  laugh,  in  which  Ozro  joined  heartily. 

"  Not  exactly  that,  Mr.  Dewstowe,"  he  an 
swered.  "  I  'd  like  the  money  well  enough,  but 
don't  care  about  getting  it  in  that  way." 

"  Oh,  it 's  the  way  you  object  to,"  said  the 
smiling  and  triumphant  pedler.  "  Why,  what 's 
the  matter  with  the  way  ?  It  can't  be  the  dog 
in  the  way,  can  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Turk  and  I  are  very  good  friends," 
said  Ozro,  snapping  his  fingers  again  at  the  dog, 
who  responded  to  his  overtures  by  wagging  his 
stump  of  a  tail  and  moving  his  tongue  quickly 
back  and  forth. 

"  Friends  !  "  said  Dewstowe,  "  don't  rely  on 
that  dog's  friendship  when  he's  got  business 
on  hand.  Why,  he  's  just  licking  his  chops  for 
a  taste  of  his  '  friend '  now." 

The  laugh  went  round,  and  many  bantering 
remarks  were  made  to  the  young  man,  who 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  answering  with 
only  a  careless  smile. 

"  You  don't  think  he  would  bite  me  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Bite  you  !  Why,  he  'd  chaw  you  up  in  a 
minute  if  you  just  pointed  a  finger  at  him." 


154  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  You  would  n't  say  anything,  nor  make  any 
sign  to  him,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Say  anything  ?     There  'd  be  no  need  to." 

"  I  don't  want  your  pocket-book,  but  if  you  '11 
give  him  a  handkerchief  instead,  I  believe  I  '11 
try  to  get  it." 

"  Oh,  go  ahead.  You  're  welcome  to  all  you 
get  out  of  that  *  weasel-skin  '  without  killing  the 
dog.  I  expect  there  is  nearly  a  thousand  dollars 
in  it,  but  I  '11  risk  it." 

"  Don't  ye  dew  it,  Mr.  Dewstowe,  don't  ye 
dew  it!"  said  the  landlord.  "Don't  ye  know 
that  air  creetur  ain't  no  more  afraid  of  a  dog 
than  of  a  chicken  ?  Don't  you  resk  nothin'  on 
it,  Dewstowe.  Ther  ain't  no  dog  '11  bite  him 
more  'n  't  would  a  rattlesnake.  'T  ain't  nateral 
the  way  the  creeturs  '11  let  him  impose  on  'em, — 
jest  like  one  of  them  lion-tamers,  only  he  did  n't 
have  tew  larn  it.  Ther  's  somethin'  mysterious 
about  it,  as  ther'  is  'bout  everythin'  connected 
with  him,  and  always  has  been.  I  Ve  always 
believed,"  he  continued,  dropping  his  voice  and 
looking  quickly  around,  —  "  I've  always  believed 
it  was  bein'  kin  to  a  ghost ! " 

"  Pshaw  !  there  is  n't  any  ghost  about  Ozro," 
said  Dewstowe,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  ex 
press  his  incredulity.  "  On  the  contrary,  he  's 


A  MODERN  EPHESUS.  155 

about  as  solid  a  piece  of  meat  as  there  is  in  the 
room." 

His  words  were  verified  by  many  an  approv 
ing  glance  at  the  young  man,  who  stood  before 
them  the  very  picture  of  health  and  strength. 
A  little  above  the  medium  height,  his  well-knit 
figure  showed  suppleness  and  strength.  His 
neck  was  somewhat  too  long  for  perfect  grace, 
but  his  head  was  set  squarely  upon  it,  and  the 
close-clipped  hair  that  curled  about  it  deepened 
the  impression  of  slenderness.  His  forehead  was 
high  and  the  face  somewhat  narrow,  though 
the  jaw  was  strong  and  the  brows  heavy.  The 
eyes  were  deep-set,  and  of  a  sharp  steely  gray. 
Altogether,  head  and  face  left  an  impression  of 
redness  without  being  positively  florid,  and  ex 
pressed  character  and  determination  without 
ill-nature.  He  looked  at  the  landlord  during 
the  delivery  of  his  tirade  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eyes,  and  without  interruption  or  apparent 
discomposure,  until  allusion  was  made  to  the 
ghost.  Then  his  look  changed  to  one  of  annoy 
ance  rather  than  displeasure,  and  he  remarked 
in  a  tone  of  quiet  remonstrance, — 

"  You  ought  not  to  say  that,  Mr.  Button  !  The 
time  has  been  when  such  a  story  might  cost  a 
man  his  life.  You  know  there  is  nothing  in  it!" 


156  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Do  you  deny  it  ?  Do  you  deny  it  ?  "  cried 
the  old  man,  springing  to  his  feet  and  brandish 
ing  the  ladle  furiously  about  his  head.  "  Have  n't 
I  seen  you  over  and  over  again  go  right  up  to 
dogs  you  never  saw  before  and  take  away  the 
very  bones  they  were  gnawing  ?  Have  n't  I 
seen  you  walk  right  on  to  a  rabbit  settin'  in  her 
form,  and  pick  her  up  as  easy  as  if  it  was  a 
stone  ?  And  don't  every  one  about  the  neigh 
borhood  know  that  a  wild  turkey  '11  jest  set  an' 
look  at  you  as  ef  he  was  charmed,  an'  let  you 
walk  up  within  easy  gunshot  right  out  in  the 
open  ?  " 

"  That 's  so,"  said  one  of  the  neighboring 
young  men,  who  felt  a  little  jealous  of  Ozro's 
skill  as  a  hunter. 

"  Pshaw,  that 's  nothing  !  "  said  Ozro,  with  a 
laugh.  "  A  turkey  is  n't  a  fool.  If  he  sees  you 
are  going  right  by  and  paying  no  attention  to 
him,  he  '11  sit  still.  He  thinks  you  don't  see 
him,  and  that  he  has  no  need  to  fly  ;  that  is,  if 
he  is  in  a  tree.  On  the  ground  they  're  always 
shyer.  If  you  keep  dodging,  and  trying  to  hide, 
he  is  naturally  suspicious.  If  you  walk  as  if  you 
were  going  by,  and  do  not  keep  looking  at  him, 
all  you  have  to  do  when  you  get  near  enough  is 
to  stop  and  shoot  before  he  gets  over  his  sur- 


A   MODERN  EPHESUS.  157 

prise.  All  kinds  of  game  are  afraid  of  a  man 
who  acts  suspiciously." 

"  There  is  'nt  any  doubt  about  that,"  wheezed 
the  stranger  with  philosophic  approval. 

"  How  about  pickin'  up  rabbits  as  if  they  wuz 
chestnut-burrs  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  mere  accident !  "  said  Ozro, 
pleasantly.  "  I  never  did  it  but  a  few  times." 

"  Two  or  three  such  accidents  in  a  lifetime  is  a 
good  many.  I  '11  ventur  ther'  ain't  any  other  man 
here  's  had  sech  a  thing  come  his  way  once." 

"  Here  's  von  ob  'em  dat  nebber  did  anyhow," 
said  the  German,  who  had  been  staring  intently 
at  the  young  man  through  his  spectacles  during 
the  altercation  with  the  landlord. 

"  Good  for  you,  Dutchy ! "  said  Dewstowe. 
"  Here 's  another,  too  ;  more  'n  that,  I  don't 
expect  it  ever  will.  I  Ve  read  of  people  having 
such  a  power  over  brutes,  but  never  saw  any 
thing  of  it ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  be 
lieve  a  word  of  it,  either.  Let  him  try  it  on 
Turk  if  he  dare !  " 

"  Really,"  said  the  stranger,  who  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  fireplace,  in  a  hollow  whisper, 
"  it 's  a  very  interesting  thing  !  I  should  be  glad 
to  see  you  try  it  if  you  have  any  such  power,  and 
are  not  afraid." 


158  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Ozro,  turning  toward  the  last 
speaker,  "  there  's  nothing  remarkable  in  it,  and 
nothing  really  to  be  afraid  of.  I  am  fond  of 
animals,  and  have  studied  their  ways.  That 's 
all  there  is  of  it." 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  take  the  pocket- 
book  from  him  ? " 

"  I  have  n't  a  doubt  of  it,  sir." 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  making  the  at 
tempt  ?  " 

"If  it  will  afford  the  company  any  pleasure, 
and  they  will  comply  with  one  request,  I  '11  try." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  No  one  must  stir  hand  or  foot,  nor  speak. 
It  might  be  dangerous  if  they  did." 

"I  am  sure  the  company  will  consent,"  wheezed 
the  asthmatic  stranger,  yet  with  an  air  of  com 
mand. 

There  was  a  clamorous  assent.  The  landlord 
subsided  into  his  chair,  muttering  to  himself 
and  sipping  the  punch,  of  which  he  had  already 
drunk  more  than  was  advisable.  Every  one 
settled  himself  into  a  position  where  he  could 
see  without  moving.  Dotty  looked  in  over  the 
heads  of  those  sitting  about  the  doorway.  She 
had  thrown  her  white  apron  over  her  head,  and 
held  it  about  her  neck  with  one  hand. 


A  MODERN  EPHESUS,  159 

"Will  you  lend  me  your  snuff-box,  sir?"  asked 
Ozro  of  the  German  who  held  one  in  his  hand. 

The  man  handed  it  to  him  without  answering. 
Ozro  took  it  and  dropped  quickly  upon  one  knee 
on  the  sanded  floor  in  front  of  the  dog,  keeping 
the  snuff-box  in  his  left  hand  and  tapping  the 
cover  rapidly  with  the  nail  of  his  right  forefinger. 
He  was  not  more  than  a  yard  from  the  dog,  and 
kept  his  gaze  intently  fixed  on  the  animal's  eyes. 
The  silence  was  breathless.  Ozro  leaned  for 
ward,  still  drumming  on  the  box,  and  drew  his 
knee  slowly  along  the  floor.  The  dog  watched 
him,  at  first  wonderingly,  and  then  threaten 
ingly.  Resting  on  the  knee  the  young  man 
now  advanced  his  other  foot,  still  moving  his 
hands  rapidly  about  the  snuff-box,  sometimes 
tapping  the  lid,  and  sometimes  turning  the  cover 
back  and  forth,  but  never  changing  his  position 
in  front  of  the  dog,  and  never  taking  his  eyes 
off  the  animal's  blood-shot  orbs.  So  he  crept, 
inch  by  inch,  toward  the  savage  brute.  The 
dog  growled,  showed  his  teeth,  opened  his  great 
jaws  with  an  angry  roar,  rose  upon  his  feet, 
and  seemed  about  to  launch  himself  at  the 
throat  of  his  strange  assailant.  Then  his  eyes 
wavered.  He  looked  from  one  to  another  of 
the  silent  company.  Dotty  smiled,  as  she  saw 


l6o  BUTTON'S  INN. 

signs  of  indecision  in  the  brute's  manner.  Still 
Ozro  continued  to  advance.  He  had  taken  the 
cover  off  the  box,  and  was  lightly  and  swiftly 
tapping  the  rim  with  it.  The  dog  gave  way  a 
little,  —  turned  first  to  one  side  and  then  to 
the  other. 

The  young  man's  hands  were  almost  against 
the  animal's  nose.  His  face  was  hardly  a  foot 
away  from  the  red  mouth  and  shining  teeth. 
Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved  as  he  breathed 
steadily  and  deeply.  Without  changing  his  po 
sition  in  the  least,  he  advanced  first  his  foot  and 
then  his  knee  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees. 
Finally  there  comes  a  hint  of  pitifulness  into 
the  dog's  growl.  Then  it  becomes  a  snarling 
whine.  He  looks  around  to  his  master.  Dew- 
stowe  remains  immovable ;  he  does  not  even 
wink.  The  dog  yields  still  farther,  and  draws 
himself  crouchingly  toward  his  master's  feet. 
Ozro's  knee  touches  the  pocket-book;  then  it 
is  lifted  over  it.  The  dog  has  abandoned  his 
trust;  the  pocket-book  is  in  Ozro's  possession: 
it  only  remains  for  him  to  retire  in  safety,  draw 
ing  the  pocket-book  along  the  floor  with  his 
knee.  Slightly  inclining  to  the  left,  he  begins  to 
retrace  his  course.  Still  his  hands  play  cease 
lessly  with  the  snuff-box ;  still  his  eyes  are 


A   MODERN  EPHESUS.  l6l 

fastened  on  those  of  the  crouching  but  glower 
ing  brute.  Already  he  has  retreated  half  the  dis 
tance  he  had  advanced.  The  dog  creeps  toward 
him,  as  if  relieved  from  the  power  of  his  look. 
All  at  once  the  landlord  became  conscious  of 
what  Ozro  had  accomplished. 

"  Don't  ye  see,  Devvstowe,  he 's  robbin'  ye  ! 
He's  got  yer  money.  Take  him!"  he  shouted 
fiercely  to  the  dog. 

The  charm  was  broken.  The  young  man's 
power  over  the  dog  vanished  instantly.  There 
was  a  fierce  roar,  a  white  flash,  and  a  pair  of 
great  gaping  jaws  hurled  themselves  at  the 
young  man's  throat.  The  stranger  fell  upon  the 
landlord.  Dewstowe  bounded  after  the  dog. 
Every  one  sprang  to  his  feet.  There  were 
shouts  and  oaths.  Some  turned  their  heads 
away  sickened  with  apprehension.  Dotty's  face 
grew  pale,  even  to  the  parted  lips,  but  her  eyes 
remained  riveted  on  the  scene  that  was  transpir 
ing  on  the  floor.  Despite  her  evident  apprehen 
sion,  there  was  a  look  on  her  face  that  bespoke 
confidence  in  the  prowess  of  her  old  playmate. 
She  did  not  see  another  pallid  face  that  looked 
over  her  shoulder. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  second.  The  young  man 
did  not  shrink,  nor  seek  in  any  manner  to 


1 62  BUTTON'S  INN. 

avoid  the  attack.  He  might  as  well  have  tried 
to  dodge  a  lightning  flash.  The  snuff-box  was 
tossed  quickly  upward,  and  a  cloud  of  the  pun 
gent  powder  fell  upon  the  white  nose,  entered 
the  red  mouth,  and  found  its  way  into  the  glar 
ing  eyes.  Then  the  left  hand  shot  quickly  be 
tween  the  gaping  jaws,  and,  almost  before  the 
spectators  knew  what  was  happening,  Ozro  had 
leaped  upon  his  feet  holding  the  helpless  brute 
by  the  tongue,  which  he  had  clutched  at  the 
very  roots,  and  was  kicking  him  with  his  heavy 
boot  in  the  region  of  the  heart.  The  brute's 
snarls  soon  changed  to  whining,  and  he  strug 
gled  only  to  .escape.  The  acrid  dust  had  en 
tered  his  lungs  as  well  as  eyes,  and  added  to 
his  discomfiture ;  so  that  when  Ozro  released 
his  hold,  the  animal  rolled  about  the  floor  in 
frantic  endeavors  to  rid  himself  of  the  impal 
pable  enemy  that  choked  and  blinded  and  stung 
him  with  remorseless  malignity. 

The  landlady  glided  noiselessly  into  the  room 
during  the  melee,  and,  shaking  her  finger  at  her 
husband  who  was  struggling  in  the  stranger's 
grasp,  hissed  in  his  ear  the  word,  "  Murderer ! " 

It  sobered  him  at  once.  Some  of  the  neigh 
bors  noticed  the  action,  and  heard  the  whis 
per.  The  stranger  released  his  hold  of  the 


A   MODERN  EPHESUS.  163 

landlord,  and  gazed  in  unconcealed  horror  at  the 
pale-faced,  gray-haired  woman. 

"  There  's  your  money,  Dewstowe,"  said  Ozro, 
tossing  the  merchant  his  pocket-book  when  the 
turmoil  had  subsided.  The  dog  had  rushed  out 
of  doors,  and  could  be  heard  growling  and  whin 
ing  as  he  rubbed  his  head  in  the  dust  of  the 
roadway. 

"  Keep  it,"  said  Dewstowe.  "  I  vow  you  've 
earned  it.  I  would  n't  take  the  risk  you  did  for 
all  the  money  that  ever  was  in  it,  and  that  's  a 
good  deal." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  Ozro. 

"  You  would  n't  ?  Then  what  the  devil  did 
you  do  it  for  ? " 

Ozro  looked  at  him  with  a  triumphant  smile, 
and  then  glanced  toward  the  door  where  Dotty 
stood. 

"  W-h-e-e-e-w ! "  whistled  the  pedler,  with  a 
shrug.  "  I  've  heard  of  such  things." 

"  Are  you  hurt  ? "  asked  the  stranger,  anx 
iously. 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of,"  answered  Ozro,  show 
ing  some  slight  abrasions. 

Then  followed  wondering  and  congratulation. 
The  German  rescued  his  snuff-box  minus  its 
contents,  and  in  a  somewhat  dilapidated  con- 


164  BUTTON'S  INN. 

dition,  but  declared  that  he  would  not  part  with 
it  at  any  price. 

"  Dot  vas  ferry  prave,  mein  frendt ;  ferry 
prave  und  ferry  —  vat  you  call  him  ?  — ferry  in- 
ghenyus,  too ;  ferry  inghenyus !  It  remind  me 
of  vat  I  hear  in  de  village  to-day,  —  apout  a  man, 
a  ferry  inghenyus  man,  somewhere  apout  here, 
dot  haf  invent  von  ferry  curious  machine  vat 
put  de  leedle  vire  head  on  de  bins,  you  know, 
shust  faster  nor  a  man  can  count,  dey  say.  I 
tinks  you  must  pe  dot  man,  Mr.  Ozro  ;  I  do,  in- 
teed.  Nobody  put  a  genius  efer  tink  of  fightin' 
a  dog  mit  von  leedle  shnuff-pox." 

He  shook  hands  heartily  with  Ozro,  who 
seemed  all  at  once  in  haste  to  leave  the  room. 

"It  vas  ferry  inghenyus,"  the  German  repeated, 
as  he  lighted  his  pipe,  "  ferry  inghenyus.  Dot 
vas  a  goot  idee  pout  buttin'  de  leedle  vire  heads 
on  de  bins,  too,  —  goot  idee.  Somepody  make 
some  monish  oud  of  shust  dat  leedle  fool  ting 
some  days." 

Ozro  disappeared ;  Dotty  and  her  mother  left 
the  porch  ;  the  neighbors  dropped  off  to  their 
homes ;  some  of  the  guests  sought  their  beds, 
and  the  remainder  gathered  about  the  fire  and 
speculated  as  to  the  probability  of  the  ghost 
paying  the  Inn  a  visit  that  night. 


A   "SENSIBLE   AND  TRUE   AVOUCH." 

ONLY  Dewstovve,  the  stranger  from  the 
South,  and  the  German  remained  at 
length  wakeful  occupants  of  the  public-room. 
Long  before  the  clock  struck  eleven  the  land 
lord  had  succumbed  to  the  force  of  his  own  tip 
ple,  and  sat  snoring  in  his  chair.  The  mechan 
ism  of  the  old  Dutch  clock  which  stood  in  the 
corner  had  hardly  ceased  to  whirr  and  rattle  af 
ter  the  performance  of  its  stated  duty,  when  a 
peculiar  rushing,  sighing  noise,  emphasized  at 
regular  intervals  by  a  curious  metallic  sound,  was 
heard  in  the  room  above.  Dewstowe  went  out 
and  looked  up  at  the  window  of  the  haunted 
chamber.  It  was  as  dark  as  the  night  itself. 
Returning,  he  took  a  hammer  from  one  of  the 
shelves  beside  the  chimney  and  carefully  drew 
the  nails  at  the  top  and  bottom  of  the  door  lead 
ing  to  the  stairway.  Then  he  extracted  the  key 
from  the  landlord's  pocket,  and  turned  the  bolt 
in  the  lock.  Opening  the  door,  the  peculiar 
sounds  in  the  room  above  were  heard  still  more 


1 66  BUTTON'S  INN. 

distinctly.  They  certainly  had  a  most  ghostly 
suggestiveness.  Taking  the  candle  from  the 
table  at  the  landlord's  elbow  he  said  in  a  low 
tone,  "Gentlemen,  I  mean  to  find  out  about  this 
matter.  The  landlord's  punch  has  served  its 
purpose  ;  he  is  past  making  objection.  Are  you 
inclined  to  go  with  me,  or  shall  I  ask  you  to  ex 
cuse  the  light  while  I  am  gone  ? " 

"  I  don't  fancy  prowling  around  after  such 
things,  especially  in  other  folks'  houses  ;  besides 
I  have  n't  very  much  breath  to  spare,"  said  the 
asthmatic;  "but  I  reckon  I  can  climb  one  pair 
of  stairs  if  you  insist  on  it.  Shall  I  carry  the 
candle  ? "  His  words  did  not  imply  any  fond 
ness  for  the  adventure,  but  he  was  not  a  man 
to  shrink  from  anything. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Dewstowe.  "  I  '11  lead 
the  way." 

"  Veil,  I  goes  along  mit  you,  too,"  said  the  Ger 
man,  not  removing  the  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

They  took  off  their  boots  and  went  softly  up 
the  stairs  in  their  stocking-feet.  The  mysteri 
ous  sounds  became  more  distinct  as  they  ad 
vanced.  Arrived  at  the  landing,  the  German, 
who  was  in  the  rear,  called  attention  to  a  thin 
line  of  light  shining  under  the  door.  They 
held  a  whispered  consultation,  and  it  was  de- 


A    "SENSIBLE   AND    TRUE  AVOUCH."     l6/ 

cided  that  the  better  way  would  be  to  have  the 
stranger  hold  the  candle  while  Dewstowe  threw 
his  whole  weight  against  the  door.  This  was 
done, .and  the  excited  merchant  launched  himself 
against  the  portal  with  a  force  that  swung  the 
unlatched  door  back  against  the  wall  and  landed 
him  half  across  the  haunted  chamber.  The 
sight  that  presented  itself  to  their  eyes  was  one 
well  calculated  to  astonish  searchers  after  the 
supernatural.  At  a  rude  table  on  which  was 
burning  a  tallow  candle  stood  Ozro  Evans.  His 
sleeves  were  rolled  up  above  his  elbows,  and  he 
held  in  his  hand  a  file,  which  he  had  just  been 
using.  A  machine,  the  wheels  of  which  were 
still  in  motion,  stood  beside  the  table.  The 
look  he  cast  on  the  intruders  was  one  of  aston 
ishment  not  unmixed  with  fright. 

"  Well,  I  swear !  "  exclaimed  Dewstowe  with  a 
trace  of  anger,  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from 
his  surprise. 

"  Just  about  as  I  supposed,"  wheezed  the 
stranger,  as  he  advanced  and  set  the  candle  he 
carried  on  the  table. 

"  So  zis  is  ze  ghost  ?  "  queried  the  German,  as 
he  came  forward  and  beamed  benignantly  on 
Ozro.  "Zis  is  a  goot  ting  to  make  von  vork- 
shop  of  ze  ghost's  chamber !  " 


l68  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  That  is  it,  exactly,"  said  Ozro. 

"So  you  are  the  ghost  ? "  said  Dewstowe. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  the  only  one  you  will  find 
here,"  said  the  young  man,  laughingly.  "  Are 
you  disappointed  ? " 

"  I  hardly  know,"  said  the  other.  "  I  had  not 
expected  this.  I  did  not  look  for  a  ghost,  but 
would  have  been  less  surprised  to  see  one  than 
to  find  you  here." 

"  No  doubt,  and  I  am  half-sorry  for  your  dis 
appointment,"  said  Ozro.  "  If  I  had  had  an  in 
timation  that  you  were  coming,  I  am  not  sure  I 
should  not  have  been  tempted  to  treat  you  to 
a  ghost  of  some  sort." 

"  It  is  well  enough  you  did  n't,"  said  the 
stranger,  showing  the  butt  of  a  pistol.  "  But 
how  came  you  to  practise  such  deceit  ?  It  would 
have  served  you  right  to  have  given  you  half  an 
ounce  of  cold  lead,  just  to  teach  you  not  to  fool 
with  people's  superstitions." 

His  tones  were  absolutely  fierce  as  he  spoke, 
and  he  glanced  around  the  room  with  something 
like  a  shudder. 

"  I  had  an  idea  I  wanted  to  work  out  by  my 
self,"  said  Ozro,  in  reply ;  "  and  as  this  room  was 
unoccupied,  except  by  the  ghost,  I  thought  I 
should  find  it  both  convenient  and  retired." 


A   "SENSIBLE  AND    TRUE  AVOUCH."      169 

"  Vich  it  no  doubt  is  ! "  said  the  German. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Ozro,  "  I  have  never  been 
disturbed  before." 

"  Then  you  have  never  seen  the  ghost  ? "  asked 
the  sick  man,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  the  ghost  and  I  are  good  friends,"  said 
Ozro,  pleasantly. 

"The  ghost  be  damned!"  said  Dewstowe, 
spitefully. 

"That  you  have  been  disappointed  in  the 
object  you  had  in  view,  is  no  good  reason  why 
you  should  speak  in  that  manner  of  what  you 
know  nothing  about,"  remarked  the  stranger. 

Dewstowe  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  —  "  he  began. 

"  I  mean  to  say,"  interrupted  the  other,  "  that 
this  boy's  curious  freak  cannot  account  for  what 
is  said  to  have  happened  in  this  room  when  he 
was  an  infant." 

"  That 's  so,"  assented  Dewstowe,  medita 
tively.  "I  say,  Evans,"  he  continued,  "you 
have  n't  had  any  unpleasant  company  in  this 
old  rookery,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  none  at  all,"  answered  Ozro.  "  You  see 
I  have  got  so  in  the  habit  of  working  here 
that  I  suppose  no  well-bred  ghost  would  ever 
think  of  molesting  me." 


IJO  BUTTON'S  INN. 

tm  Vat  ish  it  you  pe  doin'  here,  any  vay  ? " 
asked  the  German,  who  was  narrowly  inspecting 
the  machine. 

Ozro  explained  that  something  more  than 
a  year  before  he  had  heard  a  pedler  describing 
the  manufacture  of  pins,  and  showing  how 
the  chief  difficulties  attending  it  lay  in  the 
coiling  of  the  fine  wire  of  which  the  heads  were 
then  made  about  the  larger  wire  of  the  pins, 
and  sticking  the  finished  work  upon  paper  for 
sale,  which  was  then  done  by  hand.  The  pedler 
had  given  this  in  explanation  of  the  cost  of  a 
paper  of  pins,  and  ventured  the  opinion  that 
whoever  should  invent  a  machine  to  accomplish 
either  of  these  results  would  achieve  thereby  a 
fortune.  Ozro,  already  greatly  impressed  with 
the  desperate  state  of  affairs  at  the  Inn,  and  in 
spired  by  his  love  for  Dotty  (of  which,  however, 
he  said  nothing),  had  at  once  set  himself  at 
work  on  these  problems.  Having  a  natural  me 
chanical  turn,  he  had  soon  devised  a  machine 
for  accomplishing  the  desired  end,  and  began 
the  construction  of  a  working  model.  For  this 
purpose  the  haunted  room  had  offered  peculiar 
advantages ;  and  having  no  confidence  in  the 
notion  of  supernatural  occupancy,  he  had  opened 
a  passage  from  his  own  room  in  the  rear  upon 


A   "SENSIBLE  AND    TRUE  AVOUCH:'      I /I 

the  landing,  and  had  gone  back  and   forth  at 
will. 

"Veil,  dot  vas  a  goot  idee,  too,"  said  the 
German,  admiringly.  "  So  you  vas  de  man  I 
hear  tell  apout  in  de  village,  after  all  ? " 

"And  you  have  never  been  suspected?" 
asked  the  stranger. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Ozro.  "  You  see,  I  cur 
tained  the  window  closely  with  a  blanket,  and 
never  lit  a  candle  without  first  letting  the  curtain 
down." 

"And  during  the  whole  time  you  have  seen 
nothing  of  the  ghost  ? "  asked  Dewstowe. 

The  young  man  shook  his  head,  smilingly. 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  Dewstowe.  "  I  '11 
never  believe  in  ghosts  again." 

"And  I  shall  never  doubt  their  existence," 
said  the  stranger. 

"  Der  machine  ish  petter  as  te  ghost,"  said  the 
German,  peering  curiously  at  the  rude  model. 

Then  they  gathered  round,  and  Ozro  ex 
plained  the  operation  of  each  of  his  inven 
tions,  for  there  were  two,  —  the  one  to  form 
the  head  upon  a  pin,  and  the  other  to  stick  pins 
on  papers. 

"And  they  are  both  patented?"  asked 
Dewstowe. 


BUTTON'S  INN. 

"Only  the  one  that  makes  the  heads/'  an 
swered  Ozro.  "The  application  for  the  other 
has  just  been  made." 

"Ah,"  said  Dewstowe,  "that  was  the  secret 
of  your  little  box  to-day?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Ozro,^"that  had  the  model 
in  it." 

"  And  how  did  you  get  the  time  and  money 
for  these  things  ? "  asked  the  stranger. 

"  Oh,  it  did  n't  cost  much.  I  did  the  work 
at  night  and  at  odd  times,  and  borrowed  the 
money  for  the  official  fees.  The  lawyer  at  the 
village  says  he  will  wait  for  his  pay  till  I  get 
something  out  of  the  venture.  He  is  very  san 
guine  of  the  result." 

"  Dot  he  ish,  and  he  haf  goot  reason  to  pe," 
said  the  German.  "  Only  dink  how  much  bins 
be  used  efery  day  !  A  half  a  cent  on  a  tousand 
would  be  a  fortune,  and  a  pig  one,  too." 

Dewstowe  had  been  examining  the  machine 
very  carefully. 

"  See  here,"  he  exclaimed,  his  commercial 
instinct  getting  the  better  of  every  other  con 
sideration,  "  I  believe  you  have  got  a  good 
thing,  Evans  —  darned  if  I  don't.  What '11  you 
take  for  a  slice  ?  " 

4<  I  don't  know,"  said  Ozro,  dubiously. 


A   "SENSIBLE  AND   TRUE  AVOUCH."      173 

"  Of  course  you  don't  want  to  sell  the  whole 
of  it,  and  I  don't  want  to  buy  the  whole.  I 
should  want  you  interested  in  it  so  as  to  be 
sure  it  did  the  best  it  possibly  could.  I  '11 
tell  you  what  I  '11  do.  I  '11  give  you  a  thou 
sand  dollars  for  a  third  interest  in  the  two, 
cash  down,  and  run  my  own  risk.  What  do 
you  say?  That  ain't  so  bad  for  the  day  you 
come  twenty-one,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  '11  take  another  third  on  the  same 
terms,  if  you  're  willing,"  added  the  stranger,  in 
his  husky  voice. 

"  Now,  who  says  dot  ghosts  ish  a  pad  tings 
to  haf  in  a  house,  eh  ? "  inquired  the  German. 
"  I  has  n't  got  no  moneys  to  invest,  but  I  vish 
you  luck  —  I  does,  inteed,  Mr.  Ozro." 

"  I  seem  to  be  having  a  good  deal  of  that," 
said  Ozro  ;  "  but  I  thank  you  all  the  same.  Of 
course  you  understand  what  such  an  offer  means 
to  me,  Mr.  Dewstowe." 

Ozro  glanced  significantly  at  his  companion 
of  the  morning  as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh,  I  understand  all  that,"  said  the  other, 
with  an  ingenuous  flush  upon  his  face,  "  but 
I  'm  afraid  there  is  little  chance  for  me.  I  saw 
how  the  wind  blew  when  my  cursed  dog  tried 
to  make  a  meal  of  you  to-night.  I  guess  that 


174  BUTTON'S  INN. 

spoiled  my  trade.  I  don't  blame  her,  either. 
You're  born  to  good  luck,  and  I  believe  you 
deserve  it  too.  You  see,  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  others,  "  this  young  man  has  the 
misfortune  to  be  in  love  with  the  landlord's 
daughter,  and  the  good  fortune,  I  am  afraid,  to 
have  his  love  reciprocated.  I  had  a  notion  the 
same  way,  —  have  yet  in  fact  ;  but  I  'm  afraid 
it 's  no  use.  That 's  no  reason  I  should  have 
any  spite  against  him,  however,  or  fail  to  make 
money  out  of  his  brains." 

"  Dot  ish  peezness  !  dot  \dc\peezness  !  "  said  the 
German,  in  hearty  commendation. 

"All  I  insist  on,  Mr.  Evans,"  continued  Dew- 
stowe,  "is  that  I  have  the  pleasure  of  telling 
Miss  Dotty  of  the  good  luck  that  has  fallen  in 
your  way." 

There  were  tears  in  Ozro's  eyes  as  he  extend 
ed  his  hand  to  the  kindly-natured  merchant. 

"  Did  n't  think  I  'd  do  such  a  thing,  eh  ?  Nor 
I,  neither.  In  fact,  I  would  have  bet  on  my  not 
doing  anything  to  help  you,  hardly  an  hour  ago. 
Even  now,  if  I  see  there  's  still  any  sort  of  chance 
for  me,  you  can  count  on  my  cutting  in,  every 
time.  I  'm  afraid  there 's  not  much  show,  though 
I  have  n't  exactly  given  up  yet ;  but  whether 
there  is  or  not,  what 's  the  use  of  standing  in 


A   "SENSIBLE  AND    TRUE  AVOUCH."      175 

one's  own  light  ?  There's  a  fortune  in  you,  even 
if  these  things  amount  to  nothing.  I  can  see 
that.  A  man  who  will  pick  up  such  an  idea 
here  in  this  old  tavern,  and  carry  it  out  under 
such  surroundings  as  you  have  had,  has  got  a 
gold  mine  in  his  head,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
hands." 

"  Exactly  my  opinion,"  wheezed  the  stranger. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  the  papers  should  be 
drawn  on  Monday,  and  the  partners  in  the  new 
invention  separated  to  dream  of  their  respective 
profits. 

It  was  past  midnight.  The  candle  was  flick 
ering  in  the  socket.  Ozro  sat  at  the  table  won 
dering  at  his  good  fortune.  His  head  rested  on 
his  hands,  and  his  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  rude 
model  which  was  the  secret  of  his  happiness. 
So  absorbed  was  he  that  he  was  oblivious  of  his 
surroundings  until  he  was  startled  from  his  rev 
erie  by  a  sigh,  and  looking  up  he  saw  the  ghost 
of  the  Inn  standing  before  him.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  dim,  shadowy  figure  with  its  flow 
ing  hair  and  white  draperies,  that  seemed  to  gaze 
upon  him  with  cold,  unseeing  eyes.  For  an  in 
stant  his  heart  seemed  to  cease  beating.  He 
could  only  sit  and  stare  at  the  mysterious  figure 


176  BUTTON'S  INN. 

before  him.  After  a  moment  it  moved  noise 
lessly  to  the  front  of  the  room,  passed  its  hand 
along  the  walls,  paused,  repeated  the  motion, 
and  then  clasping  its  brow  in  apparent  perplex 
ity  stole  along  the  wall  to  the  northeastern 
angle  of  the  room,  felt  carefully  up  and  down 
the  notched  logs,  and  turned  away  with  a  low 
sob  of  despair  just  as  the  candle  flickered  and 
went  out.  Before  he  could  light  another,  the 
spectre  had  disappeared.  Its  mysterious  depar 
ture  surprised  him  quite  as  much  as  its  advent. 
He  took  the  candle  and  examined  carefully  every 
part  of  the  room  it  had  visited.  The  door  had 
been  closed  after  the  visitors  had  left  the  room, 
and  could  not  have  been  opened  without  attract 
ing  his  attention.  Besides,  he  remembered  no 
ticing  that  it  was  shut  while  the  apparition  was 
yet  visible.  "He  moved  about  the  room  very 
carefully,  and  after  concluding  his  search  sat 
down  with  his  brows  knitted  and  his  eyes  wink 
ing  fast  and  hard  in  evident  perplexity.  He 
could  no  longer  say  he  had  never  seen  the  ghost 
of  Button's  Inn. 


"ASHES  TO  ASHES." 

TT  was  a  busy  period  that  intervened  be- 
-*•  tween  the  early  autumn  and  a  Christmas 
momentous,  indeed,  to  the  curiously  contrasted 
denizens  of  Button's  Inn.  The  "  fall-work  "  was 
unusually  heavy.  The  weather  continued  fine, 
and  the  crops  of  corn  and  potatoes  were  such  as 
had  not  been  seen  on  the  place  for  many  a  year. 
The  great  mow  was  full  of  hay,  the  scaffolds 
and  the  lofts  crowded  with  golden  sheaves  of 
oats  and  barley  stored  away  for  the  winter's 
threshing.  From  the  stalls,  which  were  more 
numerous  than  the  business  of  the  Inn  had  of 
late  demanded,  the  brown  heads  of  buckwheat 
showed  with  their  glittering  red-and-white  stalks; 
the  unhusked  corn  was  piled  high  on  the  great 
barn-floor,  and  the  apples  that  lay  upon  the 
green  hill-side  were  gathered  into  the  cellar  or 
ground  to  pomace  in  the  creaking  mill.  Lonny 
Button  seemed  to  have  awakened  out  of  the  apa 
thy  which  had  so  long  affected  him,  and  began 
once  more  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  all  these 

12 


178  BUTTON'S  INN. 

things.  He  wandered  to  the  bursting  barn, 
through  the  fields  where  the  maize-stalks  showed 
the  white  cleavage  above  the  broad  green  pump 
kin-leaves  as  Ozro  "  carried  his  rows "  across 
the  field,  carefully  tying  the  shocks  of  green 
rustling  stalks  with  bands  which  he  twisted 
from  rye-straw, —  a  bundle  of  which  he  carried 
with  him.  He  picked  up  the  potatoes,  too,  as 
Ozro  dug  them,  —  delicate  white  "  Kidneys,"  blue 
"  Neshanocs,"  and  coarse  red  "  Merinoes."  He 
loitered  about  the  orchard  while  the  apples  were 
gathered,  and  when  the  weather  grew  colder  set 
tled  down  to  the  work  of  husking  corn  upon  the 
barn-floor. 

With  him  all  the  time  was  the  asthmatic 
stranger,  Mr.  Jackson,  become  now  a  regular 
denizen  of  the  Inn.  He  declared  that  he  found 
the  climate  good  for  his  disease,  though  he  still 
wheezed  and  coughed  upon  the  least  exertion, 
his  red  lips  showing  through  his  stiff  black 
beard,  and  his  eyes  almost  starting  from  his 
head  with  the  force  of  occasional  paroxysms. 
He  had  fallen  into  the  ways  of  the  Inn  with 
wonderful  facility.  Of  late  he  had  passed  most 
of  his  evenings  in  the  ghost-chamber,  wtiere 
Ozro  worked  at  night  and  on  stormy  days  per 
fecting  his  inventions,  sitting  by  the  hearth 


"ASHES  TO  ASHES:'  179 

smoking,  and  wearing  always  his  wide-brimmed 
hat,  while  he  talked  to  the  young  man,  to  whom  he 
had  apparently  .taken  a  special  liking.  So  a  light 
burned  .brightly  again  in  the  windows,  and  a  cheer 
ful  fire  shone  on  the  long-deserted  hearth. 

As  the  stranger  wandered  about  with  Lonny 
Button,  he  told  him  of  the  wonders  of  the  West 
and  South,  of  which  he  appeared  to  have  seen 
about  all  that  was  then  accessible  to  the  civilized 
foot.  It  was  long  since  the  old  man  had  mani 
fested  so  much  interest  in  anything  as  in  this 
eccentric  stranger.  He  still  alternately  praised 
and  grumbled  at  Ozro  ;  but  the  stranger  easily 
changed  his  mood,  and  seemed  determined  to  es 
tablish  pleasant  relations  between  the  dwellers  at 
the  Inn.  As  for  Dotty,  he  captured  her  good- will 
at  the  outset  by  this  course.  She  had  from  child 
hood  been  the  washer  that  kept  down  the  friction 
of  the  contrasted  elements  in  her  home.  Her 
mother's  unrelenting  sense  of  duty,  her  father's 
moody  querulousness,  the  strange  attachment  of 
the  one  and  dislike  of  the  other  for  Ozro,  had  made 
her  work,  not  exactly  of  peace-making  but  of  har 
monization,  one  of  no  little  difficulty.  Her  suc 
cess  had  not  been  complete  until  the  coming 
of  the  stranger.  He  seemed  to  please  alike  the 
garrulous  father  and  the  fanatical  mother. 


ISO  BUTTON'S  INN. 

As  a  result  of  this,  Ozro  and  Dotty  had  been 
much  together.  During  the  soft  autumn  days 
she  often  drove  the  horse  at  the  cider-mill, 
and  stole  out  to  the  barn  more  frequently  than 
seemed  to  her  father  absolutely  needful  while 
Ozro  was  drawing  in  the  grain.  But  Dotty  had 
great  interest  in  material  things,  and  it  did  seem 
as  if  finally  a  bright  future  was  coming  to  be 
a  possibility  for  those  she  loved. 

Ozro  was  very  cheerful,  as  behooved  one  be 
fore  whom  such  bright  prospects  were  opening, 
but  was  very  much  absorbed  in  his  work,  —  so 
much  so,  indeed,  that  Miss  Dotty  was  not  at 
all  satisfied  with  his  demeanor.  All  her  little 
coquettish  wiles  seemed  to  have  no  power  to 
draw  him  from  his  absorption.  The  farm  by 
day  and  his  inventions  by  night  appeared  to 
engage  his  whole  attention.  If  guests  came, 
they  but  added  to  his  preoccupation.  She  gave 
him  every  opportunity  to  renew  the  courtship 
he  had  pressed  for  one  day  with  such  confus 
ing  and  unexpected  ardor  ;  but  he  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  how  to  make  love.  It  was  true 
she  had  stipulated  that  she  should  not  give  a 
final  answer  until  Christmas  ;  but  he  need  not 
have  taken  her  so  literally,  she  thought.  Per 
haps  she  would  have  been  willing  to  decide 


"ASHES  TO  ASHES."  l8l 

before  ;  he  might  at  least  have  shown  that  he 
would  like  to  have  her  antedate  the  epoch  of  his 
destiny.  But  Ozro  manifested  no  such  desire. 
Cheerful  as  he  was,  and  hopeful  as  he  could 
not  help  being,  he  said  little  of  the  future,  ex 
cept  as  it  referred  to  the  comfort  of  their  elders. 
Of  himself,  of  her,  of  their  future,  he  said  little. 
Kind  and  pleasant  though  he  was,  he  uttered  no 
word  of  pleading,  and  made  no  display  of  lover- 
like  importunity.  Once  or  twice  he  had  kissed 
her  with  a  passionate  warmth  that  made  her 
heart  beat  fast;  but  not  a  word  of  love  came 
from  his  lips.  Now  and  then,  while  the  stranger 
talked  'with  her  mother  before  the  fire  in  the 
dining-room  in  the  evening,  she  had  stolen  up 
to  the  ghost-chamber,  where  Ozro  was  engaged 
at  his  work-bench,  and  though  she  could  not 
repress  a  shudder  at  the  memory  of  its  ghastly 
associations,  she  sometimes  stayed  a  long  time, 
listening  to  his  explanations  of  the  curious  ma 
chine  he  had  devised,  —  explanations  she  did 
not  at  all  understand,  —  but  hearing  nothing  of 
the  explanation  a  woman  is  always  glad  to  re 
ceive.  Dotty  wished  he  would  not  keep  his 
promise  quite  so  rigidly,  and  tried  in  many 
pretty  little  ways  to  let  him  know  it  ;  but  he 
either  would  not  see,  or  did  not  care  to  see. 


1 82  BUTTON'S  INN. 

Could  it  be  that  he  did  not  care  ?  Dotty  was 
a  brave  girl,  but  her  heart  grew  sad  at  the 
thought  ;  and  as  the  doubt  continued  to  grow, 
her  eyes  came  to  have  an  anxious  look,  and 
her  laugh  was  less  frequent  and  less  merry 
than  it  was  wont  to  be. 

Thus  the  autumn  days  went  by ;  the  frost  bit 
the  green  herbage,  the  wind  tossed  the  dun 
leaves  into  great  heaps,  and  the  snow  came  to 
hide  the  earth  from  the  bitterness  of  winter's 
cold.  The  Inn  had  lost  something  of  its  mys 
terious  character,  and  though  its  custom  was 
not  greatly  improved,  it  had  taken  on  a  more 
cheerful  aspect  than  it  had  known  for  years. 
This  fact  did  not  escape  the  eye  of  Mr.  Dew- 
stowe  as  he  reined  up  to  the  barn  on  the  day 
before  Christmas.  He  was  driving  only  the 
bays  this  time,  for  his  stock-case  was  mounted 
on  runners  instead  of  wheels,  —  the  sleighing 
being  perfect,  and  he  being  too  old  a  traveller 
to  risk  himself  very  far  from  his  base  of  opera 
tions  at  that  time  of  the  year  with  a  very  heavy 
stock. 

The  early  dinner  was  over,  but  Dotty  soon 
placed  an  appetizing  repast  upon  the  table,  to 
which  the  travelling  merchant  did  ample  justice 
while  chatting  gayly  with  his  fair  attendant.  An 


"ASHES   TO  ASHESr  183 

hour  afterward  the  bays  were  hitched  before  a 
light  cutter,  the  pedler's  luxurious  robes  spread 
over  seat  and  dash,  and  Ozro,  not  without  qualms 
which  .were  manfully  subdued,  saw  Dotty's  gay- 
colored  hood  disappear  over  the  hill  in  close  jux 
taposition  to  Dewstowe's  fur-cap.  It  was  nearly 
dark  when  they  returned.  If  their  departure  was 
a  season  of  merriment,  what  shall  be  said  of  their 
home-coming.  Dotty  was  in  such  high  spirits 
that  her  mother  shook  her  head  severely  as  she 
noted  the  sparkle  of  her  dark  eyes  and  the  glow 
of  her  wind-kissed  cheeks.  As  for  Ozro  he 
wondered,  as  Dotty  and  her  attendant  went  into 
the  house  together  while  he  took  the  horses  to 
the  barn,  whether  anything  beside  the  wind  had 
kissed  her  cheeks.  He  was  still  thinking  of  this, 
sitting  beside  his  work-bench  in  the  ghost  cham 
ber,  when  Dewstowe  entered.  Mr.  Jackson  sat 
in  the  corner  of  the  fireplace,  still  wearing  the 
wide-brimmed  hat,  which  he  did  not  discard 
even  at  meal-time,  and  smoking  a  pipe  which 
he  asserted  he  found  better  for  his  astfima  than 
the  cigars  he  had  used  on  his  first  arrival.  This 
he  attributed  to  his  having  mixed  with  the  to 
bacco  certain  herbs  which  he  had  gathered  and 
dried,  —  a  large  stock  of  which  hung  above 
the  fireplace.  Among  these  were  the  Indian 


1 84  BUTTON'S  INN. 

Tobacco  (JLobelia  inflata),  whose  medicinal  vir 
tues  were  at  that  time  highly  extolled  by  men 
having  no  little  claim  to  scientific  knowledge. 
So  it  may  be  that  the  stranger's  belief  was  not 
without  foundation.  Sitting  down  in  front  of 
the  fire,  Mr.  Dewstowe  lighted  a  cigar  and  at 
once  opened  conversation. 

"  Well,  Evans,  how  about  the  inventions  ? 
Patents  all  right?" 

Ozro  thought  there  was  something  unfriendly 
about  the  tone  of  this  inquiry.  He  reasoned 
with  himself  quickly  that  he  might  be  mistaken, 
however,  —  the  tone  might  be  only  in  his  jealous 
brain.  So  he  answered  pleasantly, — 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Dewstowe.  So  are  the 
models.  We  are  ready  to  begin  to  make  the 
machines  to-morrow." 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  the  merchant,  with  sarcastic 
good  nature.  "  And  you  are  still  well  satisfied 
with  them?" 

"Oh,  entirely." 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Jackson,  does  your  faith  still 
hold  out  ? " 

"  There  ain't  no  mistake  about  their  doing  the 
work,"  wheezed  the  stranger,  taking  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth  and  putting  out  his  tongue  over 
his  red  under  lip  as  he  spoke. 


"ASHES   TO  ASHES."  185 

"Well,  that's  good,  now,"  said  Dewstowe 
with  a  curious  chuckle.  "  Will  they  do  any 
thing  else,  —  plant  corn  or  milk  cows,  for 
instance  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ozro,  somewhat  abashed 
at  the  merchant's  tone  rather  than  at  his 
questions. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  stranger, 
sharply. 

Dewstowe  saw  that  he  must  drop  his  jesting 
manner.  The  stranger  was  not  a  man  to  be 
trifled  with. 

"  I  just  thought  I  would  ask  the  inventor,"  he 
said  jocularly,  "whether  the  machine  would  do 
for  anything  else  besides  heading  pins." 

"  I  don't  see  any  use  in  its  doing  anything 
else,"  said  Jackson,  slowly.  "  That 's  what  it 
was  made  for,  and  that 's  what  it  does.  That 's 
what  we  bought  it  for,  and  that's  what  we'll  use 
it  for,  I  reckon." 

There  was  a  hint  of  menace  in  his  tone.  He 
evidently  thought  the  merchant  wished  to  avoid 
his  contract. 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right,"  said  Dewstowe,  quickly. 
"Good  plain  contract — made  it  with  our  eyes 
open  ;  and  we  ain't  men  that  can  plead  the  need 
of  a  gardeen  either  —  at  least  I  ain't." 


1 86  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  Ve  got  along  without  one  thus  far  tolerably 
well,"  interjected  the  stranger,  dryly. 

"Yes,  there  ain't  no  getting  around  it  nor 
going  back  on  it,"  said  Dewstowe.  "  It's  a  nice 
thing  for  our  friend  Evans,  too,  —  shows  he  was 
born  under  a  lucky  star,  you  see." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"Well,  you  know,  he'd  just  come  of  age  that 
very  day,  and  sold  his  first  find  to  a  couple  of 
old  experienced  hands  like  you  and  me,  hiring 
us  to  hold  the  bag  while  he  shook  the  tree.  No, 
I  won't  say  that ;  he  didn  't  hire  nor  persuade 
us  ;  we  just  jumped  in  for  fear  some  one  else 
would  get  the  chance,  and  it 's  altogether  fair 
that  now  we  should  have  to  hold  on  to  what  we 
were  so  anxious  to  pick  up  then." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Dewstowe?"  asked 
Ozro,  with  vague  apprehension. 

"That's  what  I  mean,"  said  the  merchant, 
sharply,  facing  around  toward  Ozro  and  tossing 
something  on  the  table  before  him. 

Ozro  picked  it  up,  glanced  at  it  a  moment, 
and  sank  back  in  his  chair,  his  face  deathly 
pale. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  exclaimed  the  stranger,  ex 
citedly,  as  he  hurried  across  the  room  and 
caught  the  package  from  Ozro's  hands. 


"ASHES  TO  ASHES:'  187 

11  Oh,  it  ain't  much,"  said  Dewstowe,  jauntily. 
"  It 's  only  a  paper  of  pins  with  no  heads  on 
them  at  all!" 

"  No  heads ! "  reiterated  the  stranger,  look 
ing  first  at  the  pins  and  then  at  Dewstowe, 
incredulously. 

"  That 's  what  I  said,"  responded  Dewstowe  ; 
"just  look  at  them  for  yourself,  though.  No 
wire  twisted  about  them.  Just  a  tap  on  the  end 
with  a  hammer  or  something  of  that  sort,  and 
there 's  your  pin,  head  and  all !  Bright  idea, 
that !  Simpler,  cheaper,  better  than  we  ever 
had  before.  That  is  what  is  needed  to  make  an 
invention  valuable,  —  certainly  valuable,  I  mean. 
This  one,  now,  lays  our  friend  Ozro's  plan  on 
the  shelf  for  good  and  all.  There's  nothing 
for  it  to  do,  you  see.  The  new  pin  is  better  than 
the  old  one.  No  danger  of  the  head  coming 
off  while  you  are  picking  the  baby's  ears,  you 
see.  No  doubt  this  is  a  good  machine  of  Mr. 
Evans's,"  he  went  on  almost  tauntingly,  "  but 
if  it  won't  milk  cows  or  dig  potatoes,  or  do 
something  else  not  in  the  inventor's  mind 
when  he  got  it  up,  —  and  it  isn  't  likely  it 
will,  —  why,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  we  may  as 
well  pay  up,  and  use  it  for  horse-nails  and 
kindling-wood." 


l88  BUTTON'S  INN'. 

"That  means  you'd  like  to  rue  your  bar 
gain,  I  suppose/'  said  Jackson,  using  one  of 
those  words  which  gave  his  speech  its  foreign 
flavor. 

"  Rue  ?  "  exclaimed  Dewstowe.  "  Back  out, 
do  you  mean  ?  Did  anybody  ever  know  J.  Dew 
stowe  to  back  down  from  a  bargain  ?  Never  ! 
Not  if  it  took  his  last  dollar,  which  this  don't 
by  a  good  many.  No,  sir  !  I  can  afford  to  make 
a  bad  bargain  once  in  a  while.  It's  a  luxury 
I  don't  often  indulge  in,  you  know.  Besides,  I 
have  the  consolation  in  this  case  of  doing  some 
thing  to  set  up  a  deserving  man  in  business. 
I'm  not  specially  charitable;  but  if  I've  got  to 
lose,  I'd  rather  a  decent  fellow  had  it  than  some 
mean  cuss." 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  to  sell?"  said  the  stran 
ger,  calmly. 

"  Sell  ?  Now  you  're  talking.  But  who  on 
earth  would  care  to  buy  ?  It 's  out  of  season, 
past  the  style,  creased  and  shelf-worn,  and  bad 
stock  generally,  you  see,"  said  the  lively  mer 
chant.  "  There  might  be  something  in  the  ma 
chine  to  stick  pins  on  the  paper,  that's  a  fact. 
These,  I  think,  are  still  put  up  by  hand,"  ex 
amining  as  he  spoke  the  new  package.  "  Of 
course,  as  the  new  process  makes  pins  cheaper, 


"ASHES  TO  ASHES:*  189 

more  of  them  will  be  used,  and  there  will  be 
more  call  for  the  sticking  machine.  After  all, 
though;  there's  a  good  many  risks,  even  about 
that.  •  Suppose  they  should  take  to  putting  them 
up  some  other  way, — jamming  them  right  into 
something  a  hundred  at  a  time.  I  am  surprised 
they  don't  do  it ;  it  would  beat  this  paper-stick 
ing  business  all  to  rags.  No,  come  to  think  of 
it,  I  don't  believe  there 's  anything  in  it  a  man 
would  care  to  buy  ;  so  there  ain't  much  chance 
for  a  sale." 

"  I  '11  buy  your  share,"  said  the  stranger, 
quietly  ;  "  or  rather  I  '11  step  into  your  shoes,  if 
you  're  willing,  for  we  hain't  either  of  us  paid 
anything  to  speak  of  yet." 

"  That  '11  suit  me  to  a  dot,"  said  Dewstowe, 
quickly.  "I'll  throw  in  what  I've  paid,  too. 
But  that  of  course  depends  on  Mr.  Evans.  He 
holds  the  long  gad,  just  now.  Is  he  willing  ?  " 

"  I  've  got  the  money,"  said  the  stranger,  look 
ing  anxiously  at  Ozro. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  the  young 
man  ;  "  but  as  Mr.  Dewstowe  says,  this  new  way 
of  making  the  heads  destroys  the  value  of  one 
of  my  machines,  and  makes  the  other  at  least 
doubtful.  I  don't  want  any  man  to  pay  me  for 
what  I  haven't  got,  or  to  put  money  in  what 


BUTTON'S  INN. 

is  not  likely  to  yield  a  good  return.  I  do  not 
think  the  machine  that  is  left  is  worth  the  amount 
you  offered,  or  that  you  would  have  offered  it 
for  that  alone." 

"  That  is  for  me  to  decide,  I  suppose," 
said  the  sombre  man,  with  a  tone  of  sullen 
determination. 

"  Not  entirely,"  answered  Ozro  ;  "  besides,  I 
do  not  propose  to  allow  either  my  desire  or 
your  sense  of  honor  to  induce  me  to  take  a 
cent  from  your  hands  except  for  value.  If  the 
machine  is  not  worth  all  and  more  than  you 
gentlemen  agreed  to  put  in  it,  I  do  not  want 
your  money  and  will  not  take  it.  There  is 
the  contract." 

As  he  concluded  he  threw  the  paper  into  the 
great  wood-fire  that  glowed  behind  the  andirons. 
The  flame  caught  it ;  it  shrivelled,  crackled, 
flashed  up  for  an  instant,  and  then  with  a  roar 
was  swept  up  the  black  jaws  of  the  chimney. 
The  three  men  looked  at  each  other  a  moment 
in  silence. 

"That  was  a  plucky  thing,"  said  Dewstowe, 
presently,  in  a  tone  of  genuine  admiration. 
"That  was  a  good  paper,  with  good  names  on 
it,  —  far  more  than  most  men  would  care  to 
throw  away." 


ASHES   TO  ASHES:* 


IQI 


"  Burning  a  paper  don't  destroy  a  contract, 
young  man,"  said  the  stranger,  sententiously. 

"  I  suppose  I  can  renounce  my  rights  under 
it,  if  I  choose,"  said  Ozro,  impatiently. 

"  No  doubt  ;  you  can  release  yours,  but  you 
cannot  destroy  mine.  I've  got  an  intrust  in 
that  paper,  or  rather  in  the  contract  that  was 
writ  on  it,  that  I  don't  propose  to  give  up  in 
that  sort  of  way." 

Ozro  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  you  may  laugh,  young  man, —  you  and 
Mr.  Dewstowe,  too  ;  but  when  Abner  Jackson 
puts  his  hand  to  the  plough,  he  don't  never  look 
back —  never  !  " 

There  was  something  very  impressive  in  the 
hoarse  quavering  tones,  which  was  greatly  en 
hanced  by  the  steady,  almost  fierce,  light  of  his 
great  dark  eyes  and  the  gleam  of  his  red  lips 
beneath  the  stiff  mustache,  as  he  stood  leaning 
one  arm  against  the  mantel  and  gesticulating 
with  the  smoking  pipe  held  close  to  the  bowl  in 
his  other  hand. 

"  It  ain't  with  you  as  it  is  with  me,  gentle 
men,"  he  continued.  "The  Lord  guides  my  foot 
steps,  an  '  I  don't  dare  to  despise  His  instructions. 
I  go  where  He  leads  me  an '  tarry  where  He  bids 
me  stay.  He  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me 


192  BUTTON'S  INN. 

hither ;  by  the  mouth  of  His  servant  and 
prophet  He  bade  me  stay  till  I  have  served  His 
will  and  purpose.  He  moved  me  by  His  holy 
sperrit  to  take  part  in  the  worldly  enterprise  in 
which  you  were  about  to  engage,  an '  I  did  it.  I 
don't  know  why  —  it  may  be  for  your  good  or 
for  my  ondoin  '  —  it  don't  matter  to  the  servant 
of  the  Most  High.  I  felt  a  call  I  didn  't  dare 
neglect,  an'  jest  went  forard  where  it  led.  That 's 
why  I  took  an  intrust  in  these  things.  It 
was  n't  because  I  looked  for  gain,  though  I 
don't  deny  I  thought  there  was  money  in 
them  ;  but  the  sperrit  of  the  Lord  spoke  with 
my  lips,  an'  the  contract  I  made  was  signed  with 
the  seal  of  the  Almighty.  I  cant  renounce  it 
nor  go  back  on  it,  now.  That  contract 's  got  to 
be  carried  out  —  to  the  letter!" 

The  curious  sing-song  recitative  which  he 
used  and  the  strange  solemnity  of  his  manner 
gave  a  sort  of  weird  charm  to  the  stranger's 
utterances  that  prevented  any  inclination  to 
levity  on  the  part  of  his  listeners. 

"  You  don't  want  to  put  up  and  work  a  worth 
less  machine,  do  you  ?  "  asked  Ozro,  as  soon  as 
he  recovered  from  his  surprise. 

"The  Lord  don't  require  any  such  foolish 
ness,"  said  Dewstovve,  briskly. 


"ASHES   TO  ASHES."  193 

"  Don't  you  be  setting  yourself  up  to  decide 
what's  foolishness  in  the  Lord's  eyes  an'  what 
ain't,"  said  Jackson,  severely.  "You're  a  sharp 
man  in  trade,  I  don't  doubt,  Mr.  Devvstowe  ;  but 
the  Lord  He  sees  in  the  darkness  as  well  as  in 
the  light  —  to-morrow  is  as  plain  to  Him  as 
yesterday.  I  don't  say  He  means  us  to  do  a 
vain  thing,  and  it 's  borne  in  on  me  now  that  it 
was  n't  toward  this  instrument  that  the  leading 
inclined.  My  mind  misgave  me  all  the  time 
about  the  heading-machine.  I  don't  know  why  ; 
it  did  its  work  well.  But  the  Lord  He  knows, 
and  the  heart  of  His  servant  is  only  clay  in  the 
potter's  hands  to  Him.  So  my  mind  inclined  to 
the  other.  It 's  simple,  easily  made,  an'  a  boy  can 
work  it.  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Dewstowe. 
There  won  't  be  devised  no  other  nor  better  way 
of  putting  up  pins  for  sale.  How  can  there  be 
anything  cheaper  than  a  piece  of  paper ;  or  sim 
pler  than  turning  a  crank  ?  Jest  give  that  ma 
chine  pins  and  paper,  and  a  boy  will  put  up  a 
thousand  thousand  pins  in  a  day." 

"  There 's  something  in  that,  Mr.  Jackson," 
said  Dewstowe,  when  the  wheezy  nasal  with  its 
strange  intonation  had  ceased. 

"  Something  in  it  ?  I  should  think  there 
was  !  The  Lord's  hand  is  in  it,"  said  Jackson, 
13 


194  BUTTON'S  INN. 

fervently,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe, 
and  coughing  violently. 

"  Well,  I  '11  take  mine  out  of  it,  then,"  said 
Ozro,  pleasantly.  "  You  and  Dewstowe  may 
do  what  you  please  with  it." 

"  That 's  right,  young  man  ;  that 's  right," 
said  Jackson,  between  paroxysms  of  coughing. 
"  You  hain't  got  no  call  to  do  anything  more 
with  that  machine.  You  've  done  your  work, 
an'  done  it  well.  It's  ready  for  other  hands 
now.  It  may  be  mine,  or  it  may  be  Dewstowe's; 
I  judge  it's  more  likely  to  be  his.  If  so,  it'll 
be  my  part  to  furnish  the  money,  his  part  to 
introduce  it  and  persuade  men  to  use  it ;  and 
whatever  comes  out  of  it  you  '11  have  your  third, 
remember  that.  That  was  our  contract,  and 
that  can't  be  varied,  —  not  in  substance,  I  mean, 
whatever  may  be  done  with  it  in  form  and  detail. 
But  don't  you  give  it  no  more  thought ;  that 
ain't  what  you  're  for.  *  Paul  may  plant  an' 
Apolyus  may  water ; '  but  don't  let  Paul  stop 
planting  to  help  Apolyus  do  his  watering;  that 's 
what  the  text  means,  I  take  it.  You  keep  on 
yer  planting ;  we  '11  do  the  watering ;  an'  may 
God  give  the  increase!"  said  Jackson,  solemnly, 
casting  his  eyes  upward  under  the  broad  brim 
of  his  hat. 


"ASHES   TO  ASHES."  195 

The  unusual  excitement  brought  on  a  bad 
spell  of  coughing.  It  seemed  as  if  his  powerful 
frame  would  be  riven  apart  by  the  violence  of 
his  convulsions. 

"Can't  we  do  something  for  you?"  asked 
Dewstowe,  in  sympathetic  alarm. 

The  stranger  put  up  his  hand  and  shook  his 
head,  still  coughing. 

"  Tain't  nothing,"  he  said,  when  the  paroxysm 
had  subsided  ;  "  nothing  to  worry  about,  that  is. 
I  Ve  had  it  these  many  years,  sometimes  bet 
ter 'n  sometimes  worse.  Mighty  troublesome, 
but  it  don't  signify  nothing.  I  Ve  been  talking 
too  long  an'  too  loud,  that 's  all.  I  '11  go  down 
an'  smoke  a  pipe  of  this  'ere  Injun  weed  with  — 
with  him  afore  I  go  to  bed.  I  '11  be  all  right  in 
the  morning,  an'  I  '11  see  you  then,"  he  remarked 
to  Dewstowe  as  he  went  toward  the  stairs.  Be 
fore  he  reached  the  door  he  turned,  and  coming 
quickly  back  said,  in  a  solemn  voice,  as  he  halted 
behind  Ozro's  chair:  — 

"  Have  you  thought  what  night  it  is  ?  To 
morrow  will  be  Christmas." 

"  We're  not  likely  to  forget  it,"  said  Ozro. 

"  No,  indeed  ! "  said  Dewstowe,  with  a  shrug. 

"  Of  course,  I  might  have  known  you  would  n't 
forget  it,"  said  Jackson,  looking  tenderly  down 


1 96  BUTTON'S  INN. 

at  Ozro  ;  "  but  don't  either  of  you  forget  it.  It 's 
borne  in  upon  me  that  to-rnorrow  will  be  a  great 
an'  a  notable  day  to  all  them  that  are  beneath 
this  roof.  Good-night,  young  gentlemen.  Don't 
sit  here  an'  talk  an'  plan  all  night.  Your  life 
lines  are  crossed  an'  tangled,  but  the  Lord  '11 
straighten  'em  out.  May  He  have  you  both  in 
His  holy  keeping  always  ! "  He  raised  his  right 
hand,  and  as  he  ceased  speaking  let  it  fall  on 
Ozro's  head.  After  standing  thus  in  silence  for 
a  moment,  he  removed  his  hand  and  said  in  his 
ordinary  tone  :  — 

"  Well,  good-night.  I  '11  go  an'  smoke  a  pipe 
with  him,  an'  then  to  bed  too." 

As  he  went  downstairs,  Dewstowe  looked 
across  at  Ozro  and  tapped  his  forehead. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ozro,  shaking  his  head  ; 
"  he  seems  right  enough  in  all  other  respects." 

"And  in  that,  too,"  answered  Dewstowe,  "if 
it  were  not  for  the  reason  he  gives.  There  was 
a  deal  of  sense  in  what  he  said." 

"  Some,  perhaps,"  said  Ozro,  moodily.  Dew 
stowe  did  not  notice  the  tone. 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  smoking  a  pipe  with 
'him'?"  he  asked.  "Is  fumigation  a  religious 
exercise,  in  which  he  expects  the  Almighty  to 
take  a  part  ?  " 


"ASHES   TO  ASHES."  197 

"  No,"  said  Ozro,  with  a  smile  ;  "  that  is  the 
way  he  always  refers  to  Mr.  Button." 

"  Indeed  !  And  the  landlady  —  how  does  he 
designate  her  ? " 

"  Always  as  '  her,'  or  '  she.'  " 

"  You  don't  tell  me !  Well,  he  is  the  oddest 
stick  I  have  ever  run  across.  What  do  you  take 
him  for?" 

"  I  —  don't  —  know,"  emphatically. 

"  He  has  been  here  now  —  " 

"  Nearly  four  months." 

"  Thought  so.     And  no  clew  ? " 

"  Not  the  least." 

"  Preacher  ? " 

"  Don't  think  so,  —  not  a  Methodist,  anyhow." 

"  No  ?  Campbellite,  perhaps  ;  lots  of  them  a 
little  farther  west." 

"  Per-haps,"  doubtfully. 

"  Has  he  any  business  ? " 

"  None,  so  far  as  I  know." 

"  Money  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  promptly  and  decidedly. 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  all  he  needs,  apparently." 

"  How  long  does  he  intend  to  stay  ?  " 

"  You  heard  what  he  said  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  he  acts  under  orders." 


1 98  BUTTON'S  INN. 

Dewstowe  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  whistled 
softly. 

"  What  did  he  mean  by  saying  you  would  not 
be  .likely  to  forget  that  to-morrow  would  be 
Christmas  ?  " 

Ozro  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  him  that  every  one  who  had  heard  of 
the  Inn  did  not  know  his  story. 

"  My  mother  —  "  he  faltered. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Dewstowe. 

"  She  died  —  on  Christmas  eve,"  said  Ozro. 
with  marked  effort. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  repeated  Dewstowe ;  "  I  did 
not  know.  I  will  go  now  before  I  get  into  more 
trouble  with  my  infernal  inquisitiveness.  Good 
night." 

He  turned  back  after  reaching  the  landing, 
however,  and  asked  cautiously  :  — 

"  By  the  way,  Evans,  how  do  you  suppose  this 
man  comes  to  know  so  well  about  —  about  your 
mother  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Ozro,  in  surprise. 

"  No  ?  "  meditatively ;  "  nor  what  makes  him 
take  such  a  special  interest  in  you,  I  suppose?" 

"  No  ;  does  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  think  !  Good-night.  I  am 
not  coming  back  again." 


n  ASHES    TO  ASHES."  199 

He  laughed,  and  Ozro  heard  him  humming  a 
merry  tune  as  he  went  down  the  stairs.  He  sat 
before  the  fire  for  a  while  thinking  intently. 
Then  he  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
Letting  the  curtain  fall  into  its  place,  he  re 
turned  to  the  table,  and  taking  out  pen  and 
paper  wrote  a  letter,  folded  the  sheet,  sealed  it 
with  a  wafer,  and  directed  it.  Then  he  took 
the  candle,  and  crossed  the  landing  to  his 
own  room. 


ON   THE  VERGE   OF   DESTINY. 

A  STORM  had  set  in  with  the  going  down 
of  the  sun.  The  wind'  blew  from  the 
northwest,  and  brought  with  it  a  fine  dry  snow, 
which  filled  the  air  with  stinging  missiles  and 
sifted  through  every  nook  and  cranny.  It  filled 
the  road  with  a  slippery  mealy  mass,  which  did 
not  cling  or  pack,  but  only  lay  like  drifting  sand, 
obstructing  all  passage  and  quickly  obliterating 
every  track.  The  mistress  of  the  Inn  moved 
uneasily  about,  watching  the  storm  first  from 
one  window  and  then  from  another,  shaking  her 
head  and  muttering  hoarsely  to  herself.  When 
the  belated  stage  came  up  and  turned  to  the 
porch,  as  it  had  rarely  done  of  late,  her  excite 
ment  became  intense. 

"Jest  such  another  night,"  she  whispered,  as 
she  watched  the  yellow  glare  of  the  lamps  and 
the  smoking  horses,  —  "jest  such  another.  I 
wonder  what  misfortune  this  '11  bring ! " 

She  thrust  her  pale  face  close  to  the  window, 
watching  for  a  passenger  to  alight.  There  was 


ON  THE    VERGE   OF  DESTINY.  2OI 

none.  The  driver  handed  something  to  Dotty, 
who  had  run  out  upon  the  porch,  and,  with  a 
"  Merry  Christmas "  and  a  saucy  compliment, 
cracked,  his  whip  and  drove  on. 

"  Only  a  letter,  Ma ! "  said  the  girl,  entering 
the  room  where  her  mother  stood. 

"  Jest  the  same  !  Jest  the  same  !  "  sighed  the 
careworn  woman.  "  That 's  all  there  was  that 
other  night.  How  awfully  the  wind  blows !  — 
jest  as  it  did  then.  Who  is  it  for,  Dotty  ?  " 

The  girl  was  holding  the  letter  close  to  the 
candle  and  spelling  out  the  address. 

"  For  all  the  world  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Who 
do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  Not  Ozro  ?  " 

" '  Mr.  Ozro  Evans ! '  Think  of  that !  I  hardly 
knew  the  name  seeing  it  written  out  that  way. 
'T  ain't  so  bad  a  name  after  all ;  and  the  writ 
ing 's  just  beautiful !  "  she  continued,  holding  it 
at  arm's  length.  "  It 's  a  big  one,  too.  I  must 
run  and  give  it  to  him." 

She  started  to  leave  the  room,  but  her  mother 
sprang  forward  and  snatched  the  letter  from  her 
hand,  crying  with  a  strange  unnatural  shrillness : 
"  Not  to-night !  oh,  not  to-night,  Dotty !  Re 
member,  it 's  the  night  afore  Christmas.  Wait 
till  to-morrow,  Dotty,  —  do  wait  1 " 


2O2  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  But  Ozro  never  had  a  letter  before,  Ma." 

"  So  much  the  better  ;  he  can  wait.  Don't  let 
him  have  it  to-night,  Dotty." 

Seeing  her  mother's  excitement,  and  fearing 
its  effects,  Dotty  promised  compliance  with  her 
wish  on  condition  that  she  would  lie  down  and 
keep  quiet. 

The  day's  toil  and  Dotty's  soothing  finally 
drove  away  the  terror  that  beset  the  weary 
brain,  and  the  poor  woman  slept  with  the 
dreaded  letter  clasped  close  to  her  heart.  In 
her  sleep  she  moaned  huskily  of  the  sad  and 
terrible  past.  The  lips,  which  nothing  could 
unloose  by  day,  often  had  the  seal  of  silence 
removed  by  sleep,  and  Dotty  had  come  to  know 
the  inmost  secrets  of  her  mother's  heart,  —  at 
least  she  thought  she  did.  ^ 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  Dotty  stole 
out  and  cautiously  opened  the  door  of  the  public- 
room.  If  Ozro  was  yet  in  his  work-room,  she 
would  tell  him  of  the  letter  that  had  come.  She 
found  her  father  as  usual  asleep  in  his  chair 
before  the  fire.  The  door  leading  to  the  stairs 
was  open,  and  the  sound  of  footsteps  could  be 
faintly  heard  in  the  room  above.  It  was 
strange  !  Somehow  they  seemed  stealthy  and 
unusual.  Her  heart  beat  quickly  as  she  list- 


ON  THE    VERGE  OF  DESTINY.  203 

ened.  Now  they  were  coming  down  the  stairs. 
She  hid  herself  behind  the  door.  As  she 
did  so,  it  flashed  upon  her  that  the  footsteps 
did  not  sound  like  Ozro's.  Whose  could  they 
be  ?  Not  Mr.  Dewstowe's,  certainly.  Her  face 
flushed  at  the  thought.  They  came  nearer, — 
down  the  winding  stairs.  She  wondered  if  she 
had  yet  time  to  escape.  Even  while  she  thought 
of  doing  so,  a  hand  touched  the  casing  and  a 
footstep  fell  upon  the  floor  of  the  public-room. 
She  heard  a  labored  breathing,  and  peeping  out 
saw  the  tall  form  and  white  hat  of  the  eccen 
tric  stranger.  She  did  not  feel  at  all  afraid, 
but  watched  him  curiously.  She  was  very  glad 
it  was  not  Mr.  Dewstowe.  The  strange  guest 
walked  across  the  room,  and  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  looking  down  at  her  father. 

Poor  old  man  !  As  the  firelight  fell  upon  his 
face,  she  saw  the  marks  of  suffering  almost  as 
plainly  as  she  had  been  wont  to  trace  them  in 
her  mother's  countenance.  Poor  father !  Poor 
mother !  What  had  estranged  them  ?  What  had 
given  them  so  much  sorrow  ?  She  knew  her 
mother  thought  that  Ozro  had  been  wronged ; 
but  how,  she  had  never  been  able  to  discover. 
In  its  most  unguarded  moments  her  mother's 
slumbering  brain  had  never  revealed  the  secret 


204  BUTTON'S  INN. 

that  had  sealed  her  lips  through  all  those  weary 
years.  And  this  was  Christmas  Eve,  —  the  an 
niversary  of  the  misfortune  or  the  crime.  The 
crime  !  Could  there  have  been  a  crime  ?  What 
crime  ? 

The  stranger  went  out  of  the  public-room,  and 
she  heard  his  footsteps  going  along  the  porch 
toward  his  own.  He  had  chosen  since  the  win 
ter  came  on  a  small  room  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  having  a  fireplace  almost  as  large  as  that 
in  the  public  itself.  She  kept  repeating  over  to 
herself  the  words,  "  Crime  !  crime  !  " 

Then  she  thought  of  the  ghost.  Surely,  if 
there  were  such  a  thing  it  would  walk  to-night. 
Then  she  wondered  what  the-  stranger  could 
have  been  doing  in  the  room  above,  —  why  he 
walked  so  stealthily.  She  wondered  if  his  pres 
ence  meant  any  harm  to  Ozro ;  then  she  smiled. 
Ozro  was  his  special  favorite ;  besides,  he  could 
have  done  no  wrong.  There  was  nothing  fur 
tive  in  his  manner.  Perhaps  he  had  hoped  to 
see  the  ghost.  Her  heart  stopped  beating  at 
the  thought.  She  started  as  the  old  clock  with 
many  groans  sounded  the  hour  of  eleven.  She 
had  never  seen  the  ghost ;  now  was  her  chance. 

She  did  not  stop  to  think,  but  stole  noise 
lessly  from  her  place  and  ascended  the  stairs. 


ON  THE   VERGE   OF  DESTINY.  2O$ 

The  door  of  the  room  stood  a  little  ajar.  There 
was  a  dim  light  within  from  the  smouldering 
brands  upon  the  hearth.  She  pushed  the  door 
open  softly  and  peeped  carefully  within.  All 
was  quiet.  She  could  see  the  whole  room  dimly 
lighted  by  the  smouldering  fire.  It  seemed  very 
still.  She  started  when  the  door  creaked  un 
easily  as  she  pushed  it  slowly  open.  She  waited 
a  moment;  it  creaked  again.  Her  heart  beat 
very  fast.  She  felt  her  flesh  creep  unpleasantly, 
but  she  had  no  thought  of  turning  back.  Swing 
ing  the  door  quickly  open  she  entered.  .  It  swung 
noisily  together  behind  her.  She  put  her  hand 
to  her  throat  and  drew  her  breath  in  short  quick 
gaspsj  as  she  looked  apprehensively  around,  but 
did  not  once  think  of  retreat.  She  had  come 
to  see  the  ghost,  and  intended  to  remain  until 
it  came,  —  or  at  least  until  the  regular  hour  for 
ghostly  wanderings  was  past.  She  stole  on  tip 
toe  toward  the  fireplace,  and  shrank  instinctively 
into  the  shadow  at  its  side.  After  a  little  she  sat 
down  upon  the  floor,  drawing  her  skirts  carefully 
about  her  feet  as  she  did  so,  and  rested  her  arm 
upon  the  chair  Ozro  had  occupied  a  little  while 
before. 

She  sat  here  and  waited  —  for  what  ?     She 
smiled  as  she  asked  herself  the  question.     She 


206  BUTTON'S  INN. 

had  never  doubted  the  existence  of  the  ghost. 
It  seemed  almost  sacrilegious  to  doubt  what  had 
caused  so  much  trouble  to  her  parents.  Her 
father  had  always  attributed  all  their  misfor 
tune  to  its  malign  influence.  It  had  blighted 
the  crops,  destroyed  the  cattle,  wrecked  the 
schooner,  driven  custom  from  the  Inn,  led  to 
the  starting  of  a  rival  hostel  at  Corey's  hardly 
a  mile  away,  —  in  short,  had  been  the  cause  of 
discord,  poverty,  and  woe  to  the  whole  house 
hold  of  the  Inn,  saving  and  excepting  Ozro.  It 
had  never  troubled  him,  though  he  had  occu 
pied  the  room  so  long.  Of  late  she  had  come 
to  question  some  of  these  conclusions.  She  saw 
that  no  preternatural  cause  need  be  assigned 
to  account  for  her  father's  ill  success  ;  his  own 
neglect  and  unfortunate  predilection  for  strong 
drink  were  sufficient  of  themselves.  But  what 
had  made  him  neglectful  and  intemperate  ? 
Jack,  in  the  first  place,  of  course.  She  had 
heard  the  story  told,  with  tears  and  sobs,  of 
how  her  father  had  encouraged  the  stiff-necked 
boy  in  disregard  of  the  mother's  wishes,  and 
finally  became  his  companion  and  example  in 
dissipation.  This  state  of  things  the  ghost  per 
haps  made  worse,  but  certainly  did  not  originally 
cause.  And  then  the  mother  —  but  here  Dotty 


ON  THE    VERGE   OF  DESTINY.  2O/ 

always  stopped  in  her  attempt  to  solve  the  mys 
tery.  Something  had  wrecked  her  mother's 
happiness,  and  that  something  was 'mysteriously 
connected  with  the  ghostly  visitant.  That  much 
was  incontrovertible. 

But  Ozro,  she  thought,  did  not  believe  in 
the  ghost,  or  anything  connected  with  it.  He 
had  even  laughed  at  the  idea ;  and  he  had  oc 
cupied  this  room  night  and  day  for  two  years. 
Surely,  he  ought  to  know  if  any  one.  But  per 
haps  the  ghost  would  not  appear  to  him.  Any 
how  it  was  a  brave  thing,  and  a  shrewd  thing 
too,  for  him  to  cut  a  door  through  from  his 
room,  and  hide  it  so  that  even  she  had  never 
suspected  it,  —  though  she  made  his  bed  every 
day, — and  come  into  the  haunted-chamber  to  do 
his  work.  It  was  an  odd  sort  of  work  for  him  to 
engage  in,  too.  Who  would  have  dreamed  that 
a  farm-boy  like  him  would  have  thought  of  such 
curious  inventions  ?  She  could  dimly  see  the 
outline  of  the  machines  as  the  fire  flamed  up  a 
moment  from  the  falling  apart  of  a  log  that  had 
been  smouldering  in  the  ashes. 

It  soon  died  out,  but  it  had  given  a  new  turn 
to  her  reverie.  She  thought  of  Ozro,  the  con 
ditions  she  had  imposed  on  him,  how  manfully 
he  had  kept  them,  how  brave  and  tender  he 


208  BUTTON'S  INN. 

had  always  been ;  and  then  she  wondered  that 
she  could  have  imposed  such  hard  conditions. 
She  had  alw'ays  loved  him ;  but  then  she  had 
her  father  and  mother  to  look  after.  Well,  there 
was  no  further  need  to  think  of  that ;  Ozro's 
success  had  decided  that.  Why,  he  was  rich 
already  !  She  gave  a  little  laugh  as  she  thought 
of  it.  Then  she  wondered  what  was  the  purport 
of  the  letter  directed  to  him  which  her  mother 
had.  How  well  the  name  looked !  She  won 
dered  if  "  Mrs.  Ozro  Evans  "  would  look  as  well, 
and  blushed  at  her  own  thought 

She  had  quite  forgotten  all  but  her  dream. 
Perhaps  she  was  dreaming.  At  least  she  did 
not  hear  a  footfall  on  the  stair  beside  her  —  if 
there  was  a  footfall.  She  did  not  hear  the  door 
open  —  if  it  did  open.  But  she  did  hear  the 
old  clock  groan  and  rattle,  and  finally  strike 
the  hour  of  twelve.  Then  she  raised  her  head, 
looked  quickly  across  the  hearth,  and  held  her 
breath  in  wonder  and  affright.  Just  opposite 
where  she  sat,  and  hardly  three  steps  away, 
stood  the  ghost  of  the  Inn. 

Dotty  did  not  scream  nor  faint,  but  only  sat 
and  watched  in  a  sort  of  dumb  amazement, 
while  the  figure  visited  one  part  of  the  room 
and  then  another,  and  finally  returning  to  the 


ON  THE    VERGE   OF  DESTINY.  209 

hearth  disappeared  from  her  sight.  When  it 
had  vanished,  Dotty  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
sat  gazing  intently  at  the  place  where  she 
had  seen  it  last.  After  a  time,  apparently 
satisfied  that  it  would  not  return,  she  reached 
out,  took  up  a  stick  that  lay  upon  the  hearth, 
and  pushed  the  smouldering  brands  together 
until  they  made  a  blaze  that  lighted  up  the 
whole  room.  Then  she  went  cautiously  to  the 
side  opposite  the  corner  which  the  presence 
had  first  visited,  and  took  from  between  the 
logs  one  of  the  pieces  of  wooden  chinking. 
From  behind  this  she  took  something  which 
she  carried  back  to  the  fire  and  examined  care 
fully.  Her  face  was  very  bright  when  she 
went  softly  down  the  stairs  and  sought  her 
pillow. 

Dotty  had  begun  her  preparations  for  retiring 
when  she  noticed  something  white  on  the  floor 
near  the  door.  She  picked  it  up,  and  found  it 
to  be  a  letter  addressed  to  herself.  It  had  been 
thrust  under  the  door,  whose  threshold  had 
shrunk  away  from  its  lower  edge,  either  as  a 
result  of  bad  workmanship  or  because  the  frost 
had  heaved  the  foundations.  As  she  broke  the 
seal  a  small  parcel  fell  into  her  lap.  She  paid  no 
attention  to  this,  but  read :  — 
14 


210  BUTTON'S  INN. 

DOTTY,  —  To-morrow  will  be  Christmas.  I  have 
failed.  The  invention  from  which  I  hoped  so  much 
is  useless,  being  forestalled  by  another  which  not  only 
does  its  work,  but  makes  the  pin,  head  and  all,  at  one 
motion ;  at  least,  I  suppose  it  does,  from  the  result. 
Mr.  Jackson  would  no  doubt  pay  enough  for  the  other 
machine  to  discharge  the  mortgage ;  but  it  would  not 
be  fair  to  let  him  do  so.  This  machine  does  its  work 
well,  but  it  is  not  worth  enough  to  justify  doing  any 
thing  with  it.  I  believe  I  shall  ultimately  achieve  suc 
cess  ;  but  I  have  not  done  so  yet,  and  there  is  always 
a  possibility  of  the  failure  of  the  most  sanguine  hopes. 
At  least,  you  have  the  right  to  know  that  I  release  you 
from  any  obligation  arising  out  of  the  compact,  which 
ends  to-morrow.  I  promised  not  to  ask  an  extension 
of  time,  and  will  not.  If  you  decide  to  give  your 
hand  to  another,  I  cannot  complain.  I  have  had  my 
chance,  and  failed.  Yet  if  you  could  trust  me  with 
your  future  and  that  of  your  parents,  I  believe  they 
would  be  entirely  safe ;  and  I  do  not  need  to  assure 
you  of  my  unchangeable  love.  I  write  this  simply  to 
save  you  the  pain  you  might  feel  at  having  to  give  me 
a  refusal  in  words.  My  presence  might  unduly  affect 
your  judgment,  and  I  know  you  have  need  to  be  very 
wise.  If  you  feel  that  you  ought  to  deny  me,  please  re 
member  that  he  who  has  loved  you  so  long  will  do  noth 
ing  to  cause  you  sorrow  now.  I  may  not  be  able  to  think 
of  you  as  a  brother  should,  but  I  will  go  away,  and  give 
you  no  reason  to  regret  that  I  have  loved  you  better. 

I  enclose  a  little  parcel,  which  I  beg  you  to  accept. 
If  you  cannot  grant  my  desire,  please  to  consider  these 


ON  THE  VERGE   OF  DESTINY.  211 

trifles  a  present  from  a  very  loving  brother.  Should  you 
wear  them  to-morrow,  I  shall  know  that  you  have  de 
cided  to  accept  my  love.  If  not,  I  trust  that  you  will 
wear  them  first  at  your  marriage,  and  consider  them  a 
wedding  present  from, 

Yours  most  truly, 

OZRO  EVANS. 

The  parcel  was  a  small  leather  case,  fastened 
with  a  rusty  metal  clasp.  Dotty  opened  it,  and 
poured  the  contents  into  her  hand,  regarding 
them  for  some  moments  very  seriously.  Then 
she  put  them  back  with  a  sigh  and  replaced  the 
packet  in  the  letter.  She  had  a  puzzled  look 
on  her  face  as  she  proceeded  to  disrobe.  The 
night,  or  what  remained  of  it,  did  not  promise 
to  be  a  restful  one  to  the  pretty  Dotty ;  and  it  is 
hardly  surprising  that  she  was  very  much  dazed 
at  waking  from  bewildering  dreams  much  later 
than  usual  when  Ozro  tapped  at  the  door  and 
informed  her  of  the  hour.  She  was  no  laggard, 
however,  and  the  breakfast  at  the  Inn  was  not 
long  delayed  by  her  unusual  indulgence. 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE. 

r  I  ^HE  morning  of  Christmas  dawned  cold 
-*•  and  clear.  The  wind  had  died  away,  and 
the  sun  sparkled  on  the  white  untrodden  snow. 
The  dining-room  at  Button's  was  an  unusually 
bright  apartment.  A  window  opened  on  the 
porch  both  in  front  and  rear,  and  two  more 
flanked  the  great  chimney  on  either  hand. 
Through  them  the  sun  was  now  pouring  in  a 
flood  of  chilly  light.  This  room  served  as  the 
kitchen,  too,  on  ordinary  occasions  ;  there  was 
another  for  extraordinary  purposes,  where  the 
weekly  baking  was  done  in  the  big  Dutch  oven 
that  stood  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Around 
the  great  hickory  fire  that  blazed  on  the  hearth 
were  being  carried  on  the  preparations  for 
breakfast.  Kettles  hung  upon  the  crane,  pota 
toes  were  roasting  under  the  ashes  in  the  cor 
ner,  a  johnny-cake  was  growing  brown  on  a 
board  inclined  before  the  fire,  and  a  tray  of 
biscuit  were  showing  circles  of  white  flaky  puff 
beneath  the  ardent  reflections  of  a  bright  tin 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  21 3 

"baker"  that  obtrusively  monopolized  one  side 
of  the  glowing  fire. 

The  long  white  table  was  scrupulously  clean, 
but  quite  devoid  of  napery.  Little  steel-blue 
knives,  with  pointed  blades  and  small  bone-han 
dles,  lay  beside  the  plates.  The  landlady  stood 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  the  end  farthest  from 
the  fire,  —  making  it  seem  all  the  colder  from 
the  chilling  whiteness  of  her  presence.  The 
company  came  in  headed  by  the  landlord,  hav 
ing  been  summoned  from  the  public  by  Dotty. 
She  had  called  Ozro  from  the  porch  also,  who 
had  answered  by  a  cheery  hail  from  the  barn. 
When  the  company  had  taken  their  places, — 
Jackson  on  the  landlady's  left,  and  Dewstowe 
next  to  Dotty's  vacant  place  upon  her  mother's 
right,  Dotty  herself  standing  by  the  fireplace 
ready  to  serve  the  smoking  dishes  that  stood  on 
the  hearth,  —  the  landlady,  with  a  severe  glance 
up  and  down  the  table,  bent  over  it,  clasped  her 
wrinkled  hands,  closed  .her  eyes,  and  moved 
her  lips.  No  audible  sound  escaped  them,  but 
every  one  knew  she  was  asking  a  blessing,  and 
bowed  his  head  reverently  over  his  plate. 

"Amen,"  said  the  asthmatic  stranger,  hoarsely, 
as  she  changed  her  position  and  placed  one  hand 
on  the  great  coffee-pot  by  her  side. 


214  BUTTON'S  INN. 

The  others  changed  their  positions  als6,  — 
turning  the  blue-edged  plates  face  uppermost, 
grasping  their  knives  and  forks,  and  waiting  for 
the  good  things  that  Dotty  was  already  busy 
in  placing  upon  the  table. 

The  hum  of  conversation  arose.  The  land 
lord  offered  each  of  his  guests  a  glass  of  hot 
punch  "to  keep  out  the  cold,"  he  said. 

"And  with  the  compliments  of  the  season, 
too,  I  suppose  ? "  said  Dewstowe,  as  he  lifted 
the  steaming  glass  to  his  lips. 

The  landlord  looked  at  his  wife,  uneasily. 
Ozro  entered  at  this  moment  from  the  back 
porch,  his  face  dripping  from  a  morning  ablu 
tion  of  icy  water.  He  rubbed  it  vigorously  with 
the  towel  hanging  near  the  door,  combed  his 
hair  at  the  glass,  which  was  moved  inside  during 
the  winter,  and  sat  clown  next  to  Dewstowe. 

"  Hello,  Evans  !  "  said  the  latter  ;  "  find  it  cold 
this  morning  ? " 

"  Pretty  sharp." 

"  How  are  the  bays  ? " 

"All  right." 

"  Ready  for  a  Christmas  sleigh-ride  if  I  can 
find  a  girl  willing  to  risk  the  weather  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  Ozro ;  "  but  the  girl  will 
need  to  be  plucky." 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  21$ 

"  How  is  the  weather  ? "  asked  one  of  the 
travellers.  "Pretty  tough?" 

'•  Well,"  answered  Ozro,  with  a  shrug,  "  I 
think  I  Ve  seen  it  worse." 

"And  better,  no  doubt  ?  "  said  Dewstowe. 

"  I  should  say  so." 

"  Drifted  ? "  asked  the  traveller. 

"  Not  bad.  The  track  is  a  little  mealy  ;  but  it 
did  n't  pack." 

"  You  think  a  horse  could  get  along  ? "  was 
the  anxious  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  yes !  It  might  be  a  little  heavy,  and 
the  weather  is  certainly  severe ;  but  the  road 
is  passable." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Miss  Dotty  ? "  asked 
Dewstowe.  "What  do  you  say  to  having  a 
Merry  Christmas?" 

"  I  mean  to  have  one,"  responded  the  girl, 
saucily,  seating  herself  by  Ozro,  and  adding 
significantly,  "as  I  hope  every  one  under  this 
roof  may  have." 

"  Dotty  ! "  said  her  mother,  severely. 

"  Oh,  I  mean  it,  Ma !  and  I  hope  every  one 
here  will  stay  with  us  to-day,  and  have  a  real 
Merry  Christmas  ! " 

"  Button's  Inn  never  makes  no  charges  to  a 
traveller  that  stays  over  Christmas,"  said  the 


2l6  BUTTON'S  INN. 

landlord,  with  rude  courtesy,  —  "  nothing  but 
horse-feed,  that  is.  It  can't  exactly  be  said 
that  we  keep  open  house  that  day,"  he  added, 
with  awkward  embarrassment ;  "  but  we  set  a 
free  table,  and  they  do  say  that  a  Christmas 
dinner  at  Button's  is  not  a  thing  to  be  sneezed 
at.  I  invite  you  all,  gentlemen.  I  can't  make 
it  as  lively  as  I  could  wish,  but  you  're  welcome, 
gentlemen,  very  welcome." 

He  made  a  comprehensive  gesture  toward  the 
table  with  his  half-empty  glass,  and  then  raising 
it  to  his  lips  drained  the  contents,  and  placed 
it  bottom  upward  on  the  table.  The  landlady 
bowed  first  to  one  side  of  the  table  and  then 
to  the  other  with  simple  dignity,  and  repeated 
in  the  hoarse  whisper,  with  occasional  hints  of 
vocalism,  which  was  her  ordinary  speech  :  — 

"Very  welcome,  very  welcome,  you  and  all 
those  that  may  come  on  this  blessed  day  !  We 
do  not  have  any  merry-makings,  for  this  is  a 
day  of  sorrow  under  this  roof,  and  sackcloth 
and  ashes  become  us  that  dwell  here  better  than 
vain  and  frivolous  conversation.  But  while  we 
don't  hold  with  feasting  and  gluttony,  we  ask 
our  friends  to  eat  and  drink  with  us  in  memory 
of  Him  who  came  an  humble  guest  at  another 
Inn  on  this  blessed  day." 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  21 J 

She  bowed  her  head  as  she  ceased  speaking. 
Everybody  knew  what  the  sorrow  was  to  which 
she  alluded ;  a  solemn  silence  pervaded  the 
company,  which  was  broken  by  the  hoarse  but 
impressive  tones  of  Mr.  Jackson,  who,  raising 
his  head,  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Peace  be  within  these  walls  ! " 

A  murmured  "  Amen/'  came  from  the  lips  of 
several  of  the  guests,  who  thus  accepted  him  as 
their  spokesman,  regarding  his  words  as  a  re 
sponse  to  the  invitation  tendered  by  the  keepers 
of  the  Inn. 

"  I  am  much  obliged,"  said  the  traveller  who 
had  manifested  such  anxiety  as  to  the  state  of 
the  weather,  "  but  if  the  road  is  at  all  passable, 
I  must  press  on.  I  have  a  wife  and  three  little 
ones  at  home,  of  whom  I  have  not  heard  for 
several  months.  I  left  them  among  strangers 
while  I  returned  East  to  settle  up  some  matters 
that  could  not  be  attended  to  without  my  pres 
ence.  When  I  heard  from  them  last,  my  wife 
was  ill.  I  wrote  two  months  ago,  telling  her 
I  would  certainly  be  back  by  Christmas,  but 
sickness  and  misfortune  have  delayed  me.  I 
have  written  several  times,  but  it  is  doubtful 
if  she  has  received  my  letters.  It  is  a  wild 
country  where  we  live,  —  a  long  way  from  a 


218  BUTTON'S  INN. 

post-office.  Besides,"  he  added,  while  his  lip 
quivered,  "  I  am  afraid  to  think  what  their 
condition  may  be.  I  had  little  money  to  leave 
my  wife  when  I  came  away,  but  she  thought 
they  could  get  along  during  the  summer  until 
my  return.  I  dread  to  think  what  may  be 
the  situation  of  my  family  now  that  winter 
has  come  on." 

His  story  was  listened  to  with  sympathetic 
attention.  It  was  a  phase  of  that  new  western 
life  with  which  every  one  was  familiar,  and  con 
sequently  able  to  realize.  The  traveller  was 
making  the  journey  on  horseback,  and  the  heavy 
roads  and  severe  weather  made  it  very  trying 
to  a  man  just  risen  from  a  sick  bed;  but  he 
thought  nothing  of  himself,  —  only  of  the  anx 
ious,  perhaps  suffering  ones  at  home.  He  had 
still  a  week  or  more  of  travel  before  him.  His 
horse  was  in  good  condition,  and  if  the  weather 
permitted  he  hoped  to  get  home  by  New  Year's  ; 
but  he  could  not  delay. 

"  Well,"  said  Dotty,  while  the  tears  glistened 
in  her  eyes,  "  you  shall  not  lose  your  Christmas 
dinner  anyhow.  If  you  have  room  in  your  sad 
dle-bags  I  will  put  you  up  a  lunch  that  will 
make  you  remember  Button's  until  you  reach 
home  at  least." 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  2ig 

"  This  used  to  be  an  inn,"  said  the  landlord 
with  a  touch  of  pride,  "of  which  they  said  it 
'  welcomes  the  coming,  speeds  the  parting  guest.' 
We  wish  you  a  safe  journey,  sir,  and  that  you 
may  find  your  family  well  and  happy  when  you 
reach  them." 

The  landlord's  speech  was  greeted  with  ap 
proving  comment.  Every  one  remarked  more 
of  the  old  time  suavity,  which  had  made  him 
at  one  time  the  popular  host,  than  had  appeared 
in  his  demeanor  for  several  years.  His  wife 
regarded  him  with  surprise  not  unmixed  with 
displeasure.  She  could  not  understand  it. 

"And  that  reminds  me,  Miss  Dotty,"  said 
Dewstowe,  glancing  meaningly  at  the  landlord's 
daughter,  "  that  if  you  are  kind  enough  to  give 
me  your  company  for  the  ride  you  promised 
last  night,  we  may  as  well  do  a  good  turn  to 
our  friend  who  is  so  anxious  to  get  home." 

"  How  so  ?  "  was  the  demure  response. 

"You  heard  Ozro  say  how  heavy  the  road 
is.  Now  the  bays  are  perfectly  able  to  break 
it  with  only  a  light  cutter  behind  them,  while 
our  friend's  horse  would  have  a  hard  time  wal 
lowing  through  the  frozen  sand,  — for  a  snow  of 
this  sort  is  nothing  less  than  sand.  It  does  n't 
make  a  road  impassable  exactly,  but  it  will  take 


220  BUTTON'S  INN. 

more  out  of  a  horse  going  the  same  distance 
than  any  other  sort  of  track  I  ever  travelled. 
We  might  take  him  down  to  the  Shore  road 
and  perhaps  a  few  miles  along  that  in  the  sleigh, 
leading  his  horse  behind,  which  will  then  be 
fresh  for  his  journey." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  the  landlord,  heartily.  "Good 
idee,  too.  Of  course  Dotty  '11  go." 

"  We  do  not  engage  in  any  sort  of  frivolity  or 
pleasure-seeking  here  on  Christmas,  Mr.  Dew- 
stowe,"  said  the  landlady,  severely. 

"  But  this  is  not  pleasure-seeking,  —  this  is 
charity,"  was  the  bland  reply.  "Who  would 
think  of  getting  pleasure  out  of  a  ride  in  such 
weather  as  this." 

"  Then  why  do  you  want  Dotty  to  go  ?  "  asked 
the  landlady,  relaxing  slightly  her  austere  de 
meanor.  "  I  'm  sure  it  is  not  necessary  she 
should  go  with  you  to  break  the  road." 

"Not  to  break  the  road,  Ma'am,"  answered 
Dewstowe,  politely,  "  but  to  hold  me  up  to  my 
good  resolutions.  I  assure  you  it  takes  a  bigger 
lot  of  virtue  than  I  usually  have  in  stock  to 
induce  me  to  leave  the  comforts  of  the  Inn  to 
do  an  act  of  charity,  especially  on  such  a  day 
as  this.  You  need  n't  fear  ;  we  '11  be  back  in 
time  for  the  merry-makings." 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  221 

"  Young  man  !  "  said  the  landlady  with  unusual 
sharpness  of  speech,  "  do  you  know  what  hap 
pened  in  this  house  eighteen  years  ago  to-day  ?  " 

"  Eighteen  years  !  "  repeated  Dewstowe,  medi 
tatively,  "  I  don't  believe  I  remember  it.  That 
was  quite  a  while  before  I  took  to  the  road.  As 
near  as  I  can  recollect,  I  was  studying  navi 
gation  on  the  canal  during  the  summer,  and 
mastering  the  rule  of  three  in  the  district  school, 
winters,  about  that  time.  I  hope  it  was  nothing 
that  will  prevent  any  one  from  having  a  Merry 
Christmas  to-day." 

"There  will  never  be  any  more  merry-mak 
ings  in  this  house,"  responded  the  landlady, 
solemnly,  "  till  the  wrong  that  day  committed 
has  been  atoned." 

"  Now,  Ma,"  said  Dotty,  protestingly,  "  I  do 
think  we  ought  to  stop  thinking  of  such  things, 
and  let  Ozro  have  one  pleasant  Christmas  at 
the  Inn  before  he  goes  away." 

"  Who  says  he  's  going  away  ?  "  asked  the 
landlady,  excitedly. 

"  That 's  what  he  says,"  said  Dotty,  demurely  ; 
"and  I  think  that  if  you  won't  let  us  have  any 
merry-makings,  nor  even  give  him  the  Christmas 
present  Santa  Claus  has  brought,  I  would  go  if  I 
were  in  his  place." 


222  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Christmas  present !  What  do  you  mean  ? " 
exclaimed  her  mother ;  but  her  hand  sought  her 
bosom,  and  her  face  turned  a  shade  paler  as  she 
did  so. 

"  Why,  the  letter  the  stage-driver  brought 
Ozro  last  night,"  answered  Dotty,  "  wasn  't  that 
a  Christmas  present  ?  I  '11  bet  that  was  what  it 
was  meant  for ;  yet  you  have  n't  given  it  to  him." 

"  A  letter  !  "  exclaimed  Ozro,  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  said  Dotty  ;  "  people  get  letters 
sometimes  as  well  as  write  them,  don  't  they  ? " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  was  the  dubious  answer. 

"  Well,  there  was  one  came  for  you  last  night, 
but  Ma  would  n't  let  me  give  it  to  you  for  fear  it 
might  disturb  your  sleep,  —  give  you  bad  dreams, 
you  know.  She  thinks  people  never  write  letters 
unless  they  have  something  unpleasant  to  say." 

"  She  's  more  'n  half  right  in  that,  too,"  said 
the  landlord. 

"There's  harm  enough  come  to  you  and 
yours  from  letters  received  under  this  roof.  I 
did  n't  want  you  to  have  it  on  that  account, 
Ozro,  —  and  I  'm  glad  I  lost  it ;  for  I  have  lost 
it,"  said  the  landlady  with  emphasis. 

"  No  matter,  Mother,"  said  the  young  man, 
soothingly,  "  it  '11  turn  up  sometime  ;  and  if  it 
does  n't,  it  will  make  no  difference  to  me." 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  22$ 

"  You  think  it  won 't,  eh  ?  "  said  Dotty,  archly. 
"  Now,  I  found  that  letter,  and  was  going  to  give 
it  to  you  ;  but  if  that  is  the  way  you  speak  of  it, 
I  guess  I  '11  just  put  it  in  the  fire.  Shall  I  ?  " 

She  took  the  letter  from  her  pocket  and  held 
it  toward  the  fireplace. 

"  Don  't  touch  it,  Ozro  !  Don  't  touch  it !  " 
almost  shrieked  the  landlady.  "  It 's  writ  for 
all  the  world  in  the  same  hand  as  those  that 
come  to  your  poor  mother  and  made  all  the 
trouble,  —  all  the  trouble  !  "  she  repeated,  shak 
ing  her  head  solemnly.  "It's  bad  luck  to  get 
letters  of  a  Christmas  Eve,  —  bad  luck  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Ozro  ?  Do  you  think  Christ 
mas-Eve  letters  are  unlucky  ?  "  asked  the  girl, 
teasingly,  as  she  held  the  letter  toward  the  fire. 

He  glanced  at  her  sharply,  and  said  in  a  mean 
ing  tone,  — 

"  It  would  seem  so." 

Dotty's  face  flushed  as  she  answered,  — 

"  Then  I  '11  always  send  back  those  I  get  that 
night.  Don't  you  think  I  'd  better  ?  But  for  this, 
I  Ve  changed  the  luck,  you  know.  I  kept  it  under 
my  pillow  and  dreamed  on  it  all  night,  and  now 
make  you  a  Christmas  present  of  it  — with  a  kiss.1* 

She  kissed  the  letter  coquettishly  as  she 
handed  it  to  him. 


224  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Now  wish  before  you  open  it ! "  she  said 
imperiously,  as  he  began  to  break  the  seal. 

"  And  will  I  get  my  wish,  if  I  do  ?  "  he  asked 
earnestly. 

Her  eyes  sparkled  with  fun  as  she  returned 
his  gaze,  but  she  said  demurely  enough :  — 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so,  certainly !  I  Ve  done  all  I 
can  to  change  your  luck." 

"  Do  you  always  distribute  your  kisses  by  let 
ter,  Miss  Dotty  ? "  asked  Dewstowe,  jocosely. 
The  little  by-play  between  Dotty  and  Ozro  had 
removed  all  traces  of  solemnity,  and  a  ripple  of 
laughter  greeted  this  sally. 

"Always!"  replied  Dotty,  as  she  passed  around 
a  hot  plateful  of  toasted  slices  of  "  rye  and  Indian," 
which  was  a  favorite  breakfast-dish  of  that  day. 

"Well,"  said  Dewstowe,  with  mock  resigna 
tion,  "  I  don't  like  'em  that  way  ;  but  rather 
than  not  get  any  at  all,  I  think  I  'd  try  a  dozen 
or  so  in  that  style." 

"  If  you  are  not  careful  what  you  say,  sir,"  said 
Dotty,  shaking  her  finger  at  the  pedler,  "I  shall 
let  you  go  alone  on  your  mission  of  charity." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  safe  enough !  You  've  promised  !  " 
was  the  careless  reply. 

"  A  bad  promise  is  better  broken  than  kept," 
came  hoarsely  from  the  landlady's  lips. 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  22$ 

"  Just  so,"  said  Dewstowe,  with  the  touch  of 
irony  he  always  used  when  speaking  to  the 
landlady  ;  "  but  this  happens  not  to  be  a  bad 
one.  Besides  tending  to  my  moral  improve 
ment,  it  helps  the  traveller  on  his  way." 

The  landlady  did  not  answer,  but  a  glance  at 
Dotty  told  her  displeasure  at  the  arrangement. 

Ozro  had  opened  his  letter,  and  scanned  its 
contents  slowly.  As  the  landlady  had  said, 
it  was  the  first  he  had  ever  received  by 
post.  From  address  to  signature,  it  all  seemed 
strange,  unreal,  impossible  to  him.  It  was  writ 
ten  in  a  hand  he  did  not  know,  by  one  he  had 
never  seen,  and  came  from  a  place  where  he  had 
never  been.  He  did  not  understand  it,  and  yet 
what  he  read  made  his  hand  tremble  and  his 
face  grow  pale. 

"  What  is  it,  Ozro  ? "  asked  Dotty,  who  had 
been  watching  him  narrowly  as  he  read.  She 
had  set  the  plate  of  brown  slices  on  the  end  of 
the  table,  and  now  stood  by  her  father's  side, 
with  one  hand  resting  on  the  back  of  his  chair, 
while  she  gazed  anxiously  at  Ozro.  "  What  is 
it  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Do  tell  us  !  " 

The  young  man  finished  the  perusal  of  the 
letter,  looked  around  him  in  a  dazed  uncertain 
way,  and  said  :  — 


226  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  must  go  away  —  at  once." 

"  To-day  !  "  exclaimed  Dotty,  clasping  her 
hands  and  catching  breath. 

"  No  ;  to-morrow." 

"  I  knew  it !  I  knew  it ! "  moaned  the  land 
lady,  throwing  down  her  knife  and  fork,  and 
beginning  to  weave  back  and  forth  in  her  chair, 
as  was  usual  with  her  under  great  excitement. 
"  I  knew  no  good  would  come  of  it.  I  dreamed 
that  she  came  and  took  it  from  me  ;  and  I  was 
in  hope  that  the  evil  would  pass  by,  the  curse 
be  removed,  the  wrong  righted,  and  the  sin 
fairly  atoned  for  before  he  went  out  from  under 
this  roof.  It  won't  ever  be  done  now,  —  never  ! 
The  curse  that  rests  upon  this  house  will  be 
fulfilled.  There  was  n't  but  one  way  out  of  it, 
and  that 's  closed.  Oh,  the  sin  and  the  shame  !  " 

Ozro  and  Dotty  both  sprang  to  her  side. 

"  Don't,  Mother,  don't  !  "  exclaimed  Ozro,  anx 
ious  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  the  scene  he  had 
once  witnessed.  "  I  am  sure  it  is  all  a  mistake. 
There  is  nothing  to  atone,  nor  any  sin  or  shame 
to  regret.  No  one  here  ever  did  any  harm,  or 
meant  any  harm,  to  my  mother  or  to  me." 

"You're  right  there!  You're  right  there! 
damned  if  you  ain't.  I  'm  sorry  to  swear,  bein' 
it 's  Christmas,  but  there  ain't  any  other  way. 


THE  BE  NTS  ON  OF  PEACE.  22/ 

You  're  right,  I  say.  D'  ye  hear,  Ozro  ?  I 
did  n't  ever  expect  to  say  it ;  but  you  're  right ! 
'T  ain't  nateral  you  should  be,  seein'  how  sot 
she's  always  been  on  settin'  ye  wrong;  but 
you  're  right  all  the  same.  Nobody  'bout  But 
ton's  Inn  ever  meant  harm  to  you  or  yourn. 
I  may  have  been  pretty  ha'sh  sometimes,  but  I 
did  n't  mean  no  harm.  Come  an'  shake  hands, 
boy,  and  let  by-gones  be  by-gones.  Don't  let 's 
part  with  any  hard  feelin's ! " 

The  landlady  sprang  from  her  chair  at  these 
words,  and  in  a  strange  intermitted  shriek  ex 
claimed  :  — 

"  Don't  ye  do  it,  Ozro  !  Don't  ye  do  it !  Let 
him  pay  what  he  owes  before  ye  touch  his  hand 
in  friendship  !  It 's  well  enough  to  forgive,  but  let 
him  bring  forth  fruits  meet  for  repentance  first !  " 

"  I  don't  owe  him  nothin'  ! "  thundered  the 
landlord,  bringing  his  fist  down  savagely  on  the 
table,  —  "  not  a  dollar  !  not  a  copper  !  I  never 
used  a  shillin'  that  belonged  to  him  or  his !  There 
't  is  now,"  he  continued,  throwing  a  package  on 
the  table,  —  "  every  cent  on  't,  an'  the  pocket- 
book  it  was  in,  too.  Look  at  it  if  ye  want  to ! 
I  might  have  taken  keer  of  it,  I  s'pose,  and  not 
let  the  banks  break  an'  leave  it  all  sp'ilt  and 
wuthless  now.  I  was  wrong  there,  probably; 


228  BUTTON'S  INN. 

but  't  wa' n't  my  business,  —  at  least  I  thought 
't  wa'  n't.  I  was  n't  your  gardeen  ;  an'  nobody 
asked  me  for  it,  but  jest  went  on  an'  acted  as  ef 
I  'd  stole  from  a  dead  woman  an'  robbed  a  baby ! 
'T  wa'  n't  nateral  fer  me  to  act  right  under  them 
circumstances,  was  it  now  ?  "  he  asked  appeal- 
ingly  of  Ozro. 

There  was  great  confusion  about  the  table. 
Most  of  the  guests  had  risen  during  this 
unpleasant  altercation.  Dotty  stood  by  her 
mother's  chair  holding  her  apron  to  her  lips, 
while  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  Ozro 
was  thoroughly  astounded.  Dewstowe  reached 
over,  took  up  the  package,  opened  it,  and 
hastily  ran  over  the  amount  of  the  bills. 

"  Three  hundred  and  sixty  dollars,"  he  said  ; 
"  every  one  on  a  broken  bank.  Gad  !  It  shows 
the  mutability  of  earthly  affairs,  especially  of 
banks,  don't  it?" 

The  landlady  seemed  astounded  at  what  she 
saw.  Her  manner  was  still  stern,  but  her  voice 
had  returned  to  its  accustomed  whisper  as  she 
said :  — 

"And  the  jewels  —  give  up  the  jewels  that 
ye  took!" 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  'em!  Nothin' 
'bout  'em  ! "  said  the  landlord,  with  a  vigorous 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  2  29 

repelling  gesture.  "  Never  see  'em,  an'  never 
touched  'em.  An'  more  'n  that,  I  don't  b'leve 
Jack  ever  did.  How  should  he  ? " 

At  this  point  all  eyes  were  turned  upon 
Mr.  Jackson.  He  had  risen  in  his  place,  and  ex 
tended  his  hand  authoritatively  over  the  table. 

"  Silence  !  "  he  commanded,  in  the  stern 
wheezing  tone  that  characterized  him.  His 
eyes  seemed  bloodshot  under  the  white  brim 
of  his  hat,  his  dark  cheek  was  pallid  with  ex 
citement,  and  his  stiff  mustache  bristled  above 
his  red  lips.  Tone,  gesture,  and  mien  were  all 
those  of  a  man  accustomed  to  command. 

"  Silence ! "  he  repeated  ;  and  when  all  were 
still,  gazing  at  him  with  awed  expectation,  he 
added  :  "  It  is  not  fit  that  the  birthday  of  Jesus 
of  Nazareth  should  be  profaned  by  such  un 
seemly  accusations  or  unholy  wrangling.  The 
past  does  not  live  forever.  Its  sins,  as  well  as 
its  joys,  decay.  The  future  cometh  on  apace. 
Sorrow  is  not  always  service.  Youth  praises 
God  with  the  sound  of  rejoicing  even  better 
than  age  with  tears  and  sackcloth  !  Whatever 
the  woes  of  the  past,  let  this  be  a  day  of  glad 
ness  !  Let  this  be  a  Merry  Christmas,  whatever 
they  have  been  that  have  gone  before.  Young 
woman,  you  were  right !  Go  with  Mr.  Dew- 


230  BUTTON'S  INN. 

stowe,  and  bid  thy  neighbors  to  the  merry 
making  here  to-night.  Young  man,  let  not 
the  shadow  of  departure  darken  the  day  that  is 
before  you  !  Woman,  look  upon  your  husband  ! 
Husband,  look  upon  your  wife  !  So  shall  ye 
serve  God  with  acceptance,  and  the  darkness 
of  the  past  shall  fade  away  before  the  exceeding 
brightness  of  the  future.  For  such  is  the  cov 
enant  He  hath  made  with  His  people,  and  which 
in  these  latter  days  shall  be  fulfilled  !  " 

He  looked  upward  and  raised  his  right 
hand  as  if  in  direct  appeal  to  heaven  as  he 
concluded. 

There  was  a  strange  look  of  exaltation  on 
his  face,  and  a  peculiar  dignity  of  mien  and 
gesture  that  commanded  silence  and  awakened 
wonder. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  landlady,  gazing 
fixedly  at  him  after  a  moment. 

"  I  am  one  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord,  and  by  commandment  of  the  Prophet 
whom  He  hath  chosen  and  ordained  to  bring 
peace  to  this  household  ;  and  in  his  name  I  now 
proclaim,  '  Peace  be  within  these  walls  ! '  —  the 
peace  that  cometh  down  from  heaven,  the  peace 
that  passeth  all  understanding,  be  with  you  all 
this  day  and  forever  !  " 


THE  BENISON  OF  PEACE.  231 

He  removed  his  hat  before  uttering  these 
words.  When  he  did  so  he  presented  a  sin 
gular  appearance.  In  the  midst  of  his  luxuri 
ant  jet-black  hair,  beginning  a  little  to  the 
left  of  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  and  run 
ning  diagonally  backward  nearly  to  the  crown, 
was  a  strip,  two  fingers  or  more  in  width,  of 
perfect  silvery  whiteness.  Taken  in  connection 
with  his  swarthy  cheeks,  dark  eyes,  and  heavy 
brows  and  beard,  the  effect  was  very  singular,  — 
almost  startling. 

The  company  dispersed  from  the  breakfast- 
table  in  silence,  the  landlord  remarking,  as  he 
went  with  them  along  the  porch  to  the  public- 
room  :  — 

"  T  ain't  nateral !  'T  ain't  nateral !  He  means 
well,  no  doubt,  an'  is  a  good  man  beyond  ques 
tion  ;  but  't  ain't  nateral  to  turn  back  what 's 
been  getherin'  head  for  eighteen  years  in  one 
day  !  It 's  my  luck,  —  perhaps  it 's  my  fault, 
too,  —  but  it 's  over  now,  and  past  mendin'  by 
anybody." 

Dotty  and  her  mother  began  to  clear  away 
the  dishes.  Ozro  sat  down  again  in  his  place 
at  the  table,  thoroughly  dazed  by  what  had  oc 
curred.  Dewstowe  handed  him  the  money  and 
pocket-book  with  the  remark  :  — 


232  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Not  a  very  valuable  inheritance  !  " 

Ozro  looked  at  it,  but  said  nothing.  Dotty 
watched  him  anxiously. 

"  Are  we  to  have  our  ride  ? "  asked  Dewstowe, 
approaching  her. 

"  Yes,  go  your  ways,"  said  Mr.  Jackson.  "  In 
vite  all  the  people  in  the  neighborhood,  and  let 
there  be  such  a  merry-making  as  the  Inn  has 
not  seen  in  a  score  of  years." 

The  landlady  looked  up  as  if  to  object,  and 
then  cast  down  her  head  in  quiet  submission. 
Dotty  and  Dewstowe  exchanged  glances. 

"  For  you,"  said  Mr.  Jackson,  approaching 
Ozro  and  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder, 
"  if  the  matter  of  your  letter  does  not  require 
your  attention,  I  should  be  glad  of  your  com 
pany  for  a  short  time.  When  you  return,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Dewstowe,  "  I  may  wish  to 
have  some  words  with  you.  As  I  have  said, 
young  men,  your  life-lines  are  curiously  crossed, 
and  it  is  for  you  to  see  that  you  do  not  get  'em 
fouled  so  as  to  suffer  harm." 


AFTER    MANY  DAYS. 

MR.  JACKSON'S  peculiarities,  not  to  say 
eccentricities,  were  so  marked  that  he 
was  rarely  referred  to  by  his  name,  even  by  the 
people  of  the  Inn,  but  remained  as  he  had  been 
styled  at  first,  —  "  the  stranger."  Somehow  he 
seemed  foreign  to  their  life,  and  equally  foreign 
to  that  of  the  ordinary  traveller.  He  had  shown 
the  utmost  friendliness,  and  taken  a  great  inter 
est  in  all  the  affairs  of  the  Inn,  but  had  not 
intermeddled  nor  manifested  any  undue  famili 
arity.  His  religious  views  had  been  a  matter 
of  considerable  speculation  in  the  neighborhood. 
There  could  be  no  question  as  to  the  profoundly 
religious  tendency  of  his  nature,  nor  was  there 
any  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  people  as  to  the 
sincerity  of  his  professions.  He  attended  the 
religious  gatherings  held  within  reasonable  dis 
tance  of  the  Inn,  seeming  to  be  equally  at  home 
in  all  without  regard  to  sect.  His  devotional 
aspect,  absorbed  attention,  and  general  impres- 
siveness  of  manner  affected  all  very  favorably, 


234  BUTTON'S  INN. 

and  made  Methodists  and  Baptists  alike  anxious 
to  claim  him  as  one  of  themselves.  But  when 
they  approached  him  in  regard  to  his  own  sec 
tarian  views  and  affiliations,  the  result  was  emi 
nently  unsatisfactory.  He  seemed  not  inclined 
to  doctrinal  disquisition,  or  to  argument  of  any 
kind.  Indeed,  there  was  a  brevity  and  sternness 
about  him  that  smacked  more  of  command  than 
of  importunity.  He  was  one  of  those  men  whose 
peculiar  manner  impresses  even  strangers  with 
the  impulse  of  obedience,  and  the  expectation 
of  ready  compliance  with  his  wish  had  appa-' 
rently  been  confirmed  by  the  habit  of  command. 
Though  he  took  no  part  in  any  religious  ex 
ercises,  except  by  giving  strict  attention  and 
making  occasional  responses,  all  deferred  to  him 
in  a  manner,  and  all  looked  upon  him  as  an 
exemplary  and  godly  man.  Efforts  to  induce 
him  to  express  a  preference  for  one  creed  or 
another  were,  however,  futile.  Every  one  knew 
that  a  man  of  such  a  positive  character  could 
not  fail  to  have  fixed  and  positive  religious 
convictions  ;  but  what  his  were,  no  one  could 
determine.  He  had  been  driven  by  dint  of 
much  indirect  inquiry  —  for  he  was  by  no 
means  a  man  to  whom  one  would  care  to 
put  leading  questions  in  regard  to  what  he 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  235 

manifested  no  inclination  to  speak  about  —  to 
admit  that  he  was  not  "  exactly  "  a  Methodist, 
nor  "exactly"  a  Baptist;  and  he  was  known 
to  be  neither  a  Congregationalist  nor  a  Presby 
terian.  As  these  were  the  chief  sects  of  this 
region,  whose  life  sprung  almost  entirely  from 
New  England,  it  was  quite  impossible  for  the 
gossips  of  the  neighborhood  to  determine  "ex 
actly"  what  he  was. 

The  border-land  that  lies  between  an  estab 
lished  civilization  and  a  new  one  is  always  fer 
tile  in  religious  ideas.  Not  only  does  a  new 
creed  usually  bring  with  it  a  new  political  and 
social  life,  but  such  new  life  most  frequently 
offers  occasion,  if  it  does  not  develop  the  need, 
for  a  new  belief.  Out  of  the  relations  between 
Egypt  and  Israel  sprang  Judaism  ;  while  the 
domination  of  the  Roman,  by  weakening  popu 
lar  faith  in  the  Mosaic  system,  opened  the  way 
for  a  broader  and  nobler  ideal.  Out  of  these 
came  the  opportunity  of  Christianity.  So  too 
with  Christian  sects ;  new  forms  and  new  dog 
mas  have  ever  abounded  on  the  borders  of  the 
new  civilizations  which  they  have  encountered. 
Luther  and  Calvin  and  Knox  were  not  less  the 
products  of  disturbed  political  and  social  con 
ditions  than  the  proximate  causes  of  religious 


236  BUTTON'S  INN. 

convulsion.  Our  American  border-life  was  pecu 
liarly  fecund  in  such  religious  movements.  Soli 
tude  is  the  nurse  not  only  of  inspiration,  but  also 
of  self-delusion.  The  forest  and  the  desert  are 
especially  the  nurseries  of  prophets  and  pretend 
ers.  There  is  something  about  the  silence  and 
seclusion  in  which  man  walks  the  very  lord  of  all 
he  sees,  that  builds  up  his  self-reliance  and  ex 
alts  the  consciousness  of  individual  power  to  a 
point  rarely  if  ever  attained  by  those  dwelling  in 
the  midst  of  crowded  populations.  The. cloister 
may  offer  a  temporary  and  imperfect  substitute, 
but  the  divine  frenzy  that  comes  only  from  un- 
doubting  confidence  in  one's  own  convictions 
is  rarely  found  in  the  city-bred  enthusiast.  In 
him  there  is  always  something  that  smacks  of 
pretence  and  design.  He  who  looks  often  in 
the  faces  of  men  is  sure  to  fear  the  multitude. 
Public  opinion  flexes  his  judgment,  and  the  fear 
of  ridicule  makes  him  a  coward.  It  is  only  in 
the  man  whose  surroundings  compel  habitual 
self-communing,  and  yet  are  not  of  overwhelm- 
img  grandeur,  that  conviction  grows  strong 
enough  to  become  an  unquestioning  faith,  not 
in  another's  teachings,  the  doctrines  of  a  par 
ticular  sect  or  the  tenets  of  a  special  creed,  but 
in  the  results  of  his  own  solitary  meditation. 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  237 

The  presence  of  the  multitude  crushes  out  indi 
viduality.  It  may  quicken  the  pulse,  sharpen 
the  wit,  and  improve  the  externals,  but  it  breaks 
down  the  confidence  of  man  in  his  own  conclu 
sions,  motives,  aspirations,  and  beliefs. 

So,  too,  the  wilder  forms  of  Nature  are  not 
conducive  to  the  highest  individualism.  The 
silence  and  sameness  of  the  forest ;  the  dull  level 
of  the  unbounded  desert ;  the  fen,  with  the  sea 
sobbing  among  its  rushes,  but  the  limitless  power 
of  its  breakers  held  at  a  distance  from  the  ac 
customed  haunt,  —  these  and  other  forms  of  less 
striking  solitude  have  ever  been  the  surround 
ings  in  which  man  has  reached  the  climax  of 
individual  power.  From  Moses  to  El  Mahdi  the 
prophets  who  have  left  the  impress  of  their  faith 
on  thousands  or  millions  of  followers  have  had 
this  training.  Remoteness  from  the  centres  of 
humanity  and  a  not  too  near  exposure  to  the 
grander  forms  of  Nature,  —  these  two  things 
seem  to  be  essential  to  the  perfection  of  individ 
ual  power.  The  rugged  mountain-range  and 
the  boisterous  ocean-shore  have  never  been 
fertile  in  religious  phantasies,  or  productive 
of  great  natural  leaders.  The  moor,  the  forest, 
the  desert,  and  the  shore  of  the  inland  sea  may 
nourish  religious  contemplation  until  the  saint 


238  BUTTON'S  INN. 

becomes  a  seer,  and  the  seer  a  prophet  who 
deems  himself  divinely  ordained  to  do  the  work 
of  the  Almighty.  The  ocean,  with  its  eternal 
symphony  of  terror,  crushes  out  speculation, 
thrills  the  soul  with  awe,  until  it  shrinks  within 
itself  and  clamors  for  external  aid,  and  inclines 
the  mind  not  to  speculation  and  dissent,  but  to 
faith  and  superstition.  He  that  dwells  by  the 
seashore  is  almost  always  a  believer.  He  may 
be  an  enthusiast,  but  he  is  rarely  a  doubter, 
and  never  a  promulgator  of  strange  doctrines 
or  new  beliefs. 

Our  Western  forests  nourished  prophets  and 
messiahs  by  the  score.  New  sects  and  new 
creeds  sprang  up  under  their  shadow  almost  as 
readily  as  new  towns  and  new  States.  Freedom 
from  the  restraint  of  old  institutions  encouraged 
also  freedom  of  religious  belief.  There  were 
"  Free  "  Baptists,  "  Free  "  Presbyterians,  "  Free  " 
Methodists,  and  even  "Free"  Quakers;  a  like 
series  of  "Independents"  and  sects  distinguished 
Irom  other  known  bodies  by  special  prefixes 
such  as  "  Christian,"  "  Protestant,"  or  "  Primi 
tive,"  as  well  as  many  having  entirely  new  and 
self-distinguishing  names  and  holding  special 
unrelated  tenets.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the 
witty  Frenchman  spoke  of  our  country  as  a  land 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  239 

of  "  one  hundred  religions  and  but  one  sauce." 
It  was  true ;  for  the  first  half  of  this  century 
our  country  was  a  hot-bed  of  new  beliefs.  In 
finite  space  and  unechoing  solitude,  in  a  climate 
compelling  mental  activity,  incline  a  people  al 
ways  to  the  contemplation  of  infinite  subjects, 
—  questions  in  regard  to  the  divine  essence,  pur 
pose,  and  attributes.  Until  the  thirst  for  wealth 
became  a  universal  disease,  and  Mammon  set 
up  his  golden  idol  for  us  to  worship,  the  Ameri 
can  people  were  among  the  most  religiously 
inclined  of  any  in  the  world,  —  perhaps  more 
than  any  that  the  world  has  known  since  the 
overthrow  of  the  Jewish  hierarchy.  There  was 
little  harmony  in  form  or  method,  but  there  was 
universal  accord  in  result.  To  be  religious,  to 
believe  in  something,  and  believe  in  it  with 
might,  mind,  soul,  and  strength,  was  accounted 
the  first  duty  of  man.  The  young  might  be 
permitted  to  be  frivolous  and  even  profane,  but 
with  arrival  at  maturity  a  sober  religious  cast 
of  mind  was  expected.  They  were  exceedingly 
lax  in  the  observance  of  formal  laws  of  the 
Church  as  well  as  of  the  State.  Of  frivolity 
there  was  very  little.  Christmas  was  curiously 
regarded.  Religious  service  was  generally  held 
on  that  day,  but  it  was  not  popularly  observed 


240  BUTTON'S  INN. 

as  a  day  of  merry-making.  It  was  rather  a 
supernumerary  Sabbath  than  a  holiday,  in  the 
ordinary  acceptance  of  the  term.  In  fact,  mirth 
and  gladness  were  divorced  from  religion,  except 
it  was  a  state  of  religious  exaltation  bordering 
on  frenzy,  which  was  accounted  the  inexpressi 
ble  and  exclusive  joy  of  the  believer.  The  forest 
did  not  make  them  more  religious  than  other 
people,  in  the  sense  of  scrupulous  observance  of 
forms  or  ceremonies,  or  strict  adherance  to  the 
letter  of  the  law.  But  united  with  the  political 
impulse  toward  individualism,  it  gave  us  a  phe- 
nominal  independence  of  authority,  united  with 
a  universally  religious  cast  of  thought,  which 
has  produced  some  strangely  discordant  results. 
Much  that  came  from  these  conditions  was  good 
and  admirable ;  some  of  it  was  whimsical,  and 
some  monstrous. 

This  religiousness  did  not  consist  in  careful 
and  anxious  observance  of  ceremonial  or  the 
unquestioning  acceptance  of  any  particular  form 
of  belief,  but  rather  in  a  universal  tendency 
to  speculation  in  regard  to  religious  matters. 
Every  one  might  not  have  his  own  distinctive 
creed,  but  he  was  pretty  sure  to  have  his  own 
construction  of  accepted  dogmas.  It  was  the 
outcome  of  the  personal  piety  of  the  Puritan, 


AFTER  MANY  DA  VS.  241 

colored  by  the  contempt  for  authority  and  all 
forms  of  external  restraint,  which  marked  the 
Yankee  in  his  westward  course  across  the  con 
tinent.  Learning  was  almost  as  little  esteemed 
as  authority  ;  neither  were  thought  essential 
to  a  knowledge  of  the  divine  will  or  conducive 
to  divine  favor.  Individual  consciousness  was 
exalted  to  a  level  with  the  inspired  Word.  The 
" witness  of  the  spirit"  made  all  men  equal. 
The  most  unlearned  disputed  with  confidence 
with  the  wisest  on  the  subtlest  points  of  doc 
trine.  Men  believed  that  they  "  walked  with 
God  "  in  an  almost  literal  sense.  Communion 
with  the  Divine  —  direct  and  conscious  influ 
ence  and  inspiration  —  was  a  usual  rather  than 
an  exceptional  form  of  belief  and  experience. 
The  most  marvellous  of  miracles  was  the  most 
commonplace  incident  of  an  ordinary  religious 
experience.  Intelligence  intensified  rather  than 
lessened  this  curious  effect,  because  intelligence 
recognized  the  supernal,  and  could  not  deny  the 
miraculous  experience  of  one  while  admitting 
that  of  another. 

In  other  lands  and  other  times  such  religious 
exaltation   has   expended   itself   in   the   zealous 
observance  of  special  rites,  in  mortifying  pen 
ance,  in  the  worship  of  saints,  and  abject  obe- 
16 


242  BUTTON'S  INN. 

dience  to  ecclesiastical  authority.  None  of 
these  marked  the  great  tide  of  religious  senti 
ment  that  swept  over  the  land  during  the  first 
half-century  of  our  national  existence.  The 
overthrow  of  political  authority  had  generated 
an  absolute  contempt  of  ecclesiastical  restraint. 
Toleration  had  reached  its  utmost  limit.  Reli 
giousness  of  any  sort  was  respected  and  respect 
able  :  irreligion  of  the  very  mildest  character 
was  counted  little  less  than  a  crime.  Sects 
multiplied  so  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
say  where  one  ended  and  another  began.  Men 
spoke  as  familiarly  of  their  relations  with  God 
as  with  each  other.  Repentance  formed  an 
impenetrable  cloak  for  all  irregularities  of  life. 
Appeal  from  the  authorities  of  the  various 
churches  "to  the  Most  High  God  and  the 
American  people "  was  open  to  all,  and  was 
made  with  little  hesitation.  Piety  meant  per 
sonal  communion  with  Deity  ;  from  that  to 
specific  revelation  was  but  a  brief  step. 

Out  of  this  almost  universal  sense  of  immedi 
ate  contact  with  the  Deity  came  more  than  one 
curious  result,  —  tolerance  and  intolerance,  cred- 
ulousness  and  unbelief,  new  sects,  new  methods, 
new  doctrines,  and  one  absolutely  new  religion. 
Prophets  by  the  score  arose  proclaiming  new  ways 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  243 

and  new  tenets,  but  only  one  had  the  boldness 
to  overleap  the  confines  of  Christian  faith  and 
proclaim  an  absolutely  new  dispensation.  At 
first,  even  this  new  theosophy  did  not  seek  to 
disturb  the  established  order.  It  inculcated 
temperance,  industry,  and,  without  proclaiming 
community  of  goods,  made  want  impossible  and 
poverty  exceedingly  rare  among  its  votaries. 
It  based  its  claims  not  on  a  complete  and  fin 
ished  revelation,  but  on  a  continuing  inspira 
tion,  a  living  prophet,  and  a  cumulative  law. 
Strange  enough,  this  sect  took  its  rise  and  se 
cured  its  first  foot-hold  in  the  most  religious 
and  intelligent  part  of  the  country.  —  western 
New  York  and  northern  Ohio.  At  the  time  of 
which  we  write  it  was  just  assuming  definite 
form.  Since  then  it  has  dropped  some  of  its 
vagaries  and  assumed  more  definite  and  distinc 
tive  features.  Though  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ 
was  assumed  as  a  part  of  its  titular  appellation, 
it  retained  little  of  the  accepted  Christian  idea 
except  that  of  immediate  personal  intercommun 
ion  with  the  Deity  which  American  Christian 
ity  had  carried  to  such  an  unprecedented  length. 
Doctrinally  speaking,  Mormonism  is  but  an  ex 
aggeration  of  the  idea  of  personal  communion, 
control,  and  direction  which  pervaded  the  re- 


244  BUTTON'S  INN. 

ligious  atmosphere  of  that  day.  It  is  a  religion 
of  intermitting  revelation,  of  present  miracles, 
and  continuing  prophetic  guidance.  The  break 
ing  down  of  ancient  barriers  brings  sometimes 
liberty  and  sometimes  licence.  The  "internal 
light"  of  the  Friends  is  but  little  removed  from 
the  claim  of  prophetic  inspiration  of  the  Mormon 
and  the  miraculous  "  witness  of  the  Spirit "  on 
which  other  Christian  sects  insist  with  more  or 
less  emphasis.  The  idea  of  personal  guidance 
by  signs  and  tokens  of  the  divine  will,  which 
was  so  notable  a  characteristic  of  the  Puritan 
faith,  yielded  some  strange  fruits  when  freed 
from  the  restraints  of  established  institutions, 
and  removed  from  the  atmosphere  it  had  created 
for  itself  in  New  England.  Of  these,  by  far  the 
most  notable  was  the  new  religion  which  sprang 
up  in  the  very  midst  of  the  best  life  of  the  land, 
has  now  become  the  established  belief  of  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  million  souls,  and  presents 
to-day  one  of  the  most  difficult  questions  that 
has  ever  come  before  the  American  people  for 
solution. 

Socially,  as  well  as  religiously,  this  was  a 
period  of  peculiar  interest.  It  was  the  unrecog 
nized  nidus  of  forces  unparalleled  in  history. 
Hand  and  brain  were  just  awakening  to  a  new 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  24$ 

life.  So  swift  has  been  our  subsequent  develop 
ment,  that  it  seems  as  if  until  that  time  man  had 
only  slumbered  on  the  earth.  As  yet  wealth  was 
little  esteemed  as  an  index  of  social  rank.  The 
richest  and  the  poorest  stood  on  the  same  social 
level.  In  fact  the  rich  were  very  few,  and  the 
very  poor  were  fewer  still.  Luxuries  were  rare, 
but  of  necessities  there  was  so  general  an  abun 
dance  as  to  amount  almost  to  universal  super 
fluity.  The  reign  of  machinery  had  hardly 
begun.  The  locomotive  was  scarcely  a  recog 
nized  factor  of  transportation  ;  paper  was  yet 
made  by  hand ;  cast-iron  stoves  and  plows  were 
almost  unknown  ;  nails  were  still  made  by  the 
smith.  Invention  had  hardly  opened  the  door 
of  wonderland.  American  mechanical  genius 
yet  lay  in  chrysalid  slumber.  One  clerk  in  the 
office  of  the  Secretary  of  State  did  all  the  work 
of  granting  patents  to  our  inventors  until  the 
year  before  Ozro's  application  was  made.  In 
the  first  half  century  of  our  government  there 
were  issued  barely  ten  thousand  patents,  —  as 
many  are  granted  now  in  half  a  year.  At  the 
time  of  which  we  write  the  Patent  Office,  just 
established  as  a  separate  bureau,  consisted  of 
a  Commissioner  and  three  clerks.  Even  these 
found  the  time  to  hang  heavy  on  their  hands. 


246  BUTTON'S  INN. 

That  year  another  clerk  was  added,  and  the  ad 
ministration  was  attacked  for  extravagance  in 
consequence. 

A  simple  people  standing  on  the  verge  of  an 
epoch  of  unparalleled  material  prosperity,  but  as 
yet  concerned  more  with  religious  and  politi 
cal  speculation  than  with  the  competition  for 
wealth,  composed  the  two  great  tides  of  life 
which  radiated  from  two  great  centres,  —  the 
one  at  the  East  and  the  other  at  the  South,  — 
over  all  that  constitutes  our  present  national 
domain. 

To  such  people  the  religious  proclivities  of  a 
man  like  Mr.  Jackson  were  a  matter  of  serious 
speculation,  —  to  none  more  so  than  to  the  land 
lady  of  the  Inn  whose  religious  intensity  found 
in  his  stern,  almost  ascetic,  fervor  a  kindred 
sentiment.  With  her  it  was  no  question  of  ap 
proval.  To  whatever  sect  he  might  belong  she 
recognized  not  only  the  divine  nature  of  his  zeal, 
but  felt  that  his  associations  must  have  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  shaping  his  religious  character. 
She  was  predisposed  after  four  months'  scrutiny 
of  his  blameless  life  to  recognize  in  this  unyield 
ing  pietist  not  only  a  man  of  high  rank  in  the 
sect  to  which  he  belonged,  but  one  entitled  to 
consideration  because  of  his  life  and  character. 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  247 

When,  therefore,  he  proclaimed  himself  in  no 
doubtful  tones  "the  servant  of  the  Most  High 
God,"  she  yielded  submissively  to  his  dictation. 
He  was  not  indeed  like  other  men,  and  taught 
not  like  other  religious  teachers.  The  imperi- 
ousness  of  undoubting  faith  and  the  sincerity  of 
a  zeal  which  even  the  fear  of  martyrdom  could 
not  quench  showed  in  his  demeanor  and  thrilled 
in  his  hoarse,  rasping  tones.  He  was  one  of 
those  who  say  even  to  a  stranger,  "  Go,  and  he 
goeth."  To  her  who  had  noted  his  demeanor  so 
long  ;  who  had  seen  him  retire  to  his  own  room 
three  times  a  day  for  prayer  and  meditation  ; 
who  realized  the  self-restraint  which  held  him 
back  from  participation  in  the  worship  of  others, 
yet  compelled  him  to  give  it  the  sanction  of  his 
presence  and  approval,  —  to  her  he  spake  with 
an  authority  which  she  did  not  dream  of  gain 
saying.  When  he  had  commanded  them  to  make 
merry,  though  her  heart  was  sore  and  apprehen 
sive  of  what  might  be  in  store  for  the  future, 
she  hardly  thought  of  questioning.  Indeed,  at 
that  very  moment  had  flashed  through  her  mind 
the  words  of  the  yet  unrecognized  Messiah,  when 
in  that  "  beginning  of  miracles  "  he  said  to  his 
mother,  "Woman,  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee?" 
and  paying  no  further  heed  to  her  remonstrance, 


248  BUTTONS  INN. 

commanded  the  wondering  servants  to  "  Fill 
the  waterpots  with  water."  She  had  taken  this 
as  a  divine  behest  that  she  should  comply  with 
the  wishes  of  this  masterful  stranger  who  had 
dwelt  so  long  beneath  her  roof,  and  was  still  a 
stranger.  Where  he  lived,  what  was  his  busi 
ness  or  position,  none  knew.  He  had  witnessed 
strange  and  stirring  scenes  of  which  he  some 
times  spoke,  but  without  any  allusion  to  him 
self,  except  as  an  eye-witness.  He  seemed  to 
know  all  phases  of  life,  and  more  than  once 
had  startled  the  good  woman  with  that  know 
ledge  which  brought  conviction  to  the  heart 
of  Nathanael,  when  the  Master  said  to  him, 
"Before  that  Philip  called  thee,  when  thou 
wast  under  the  fig-tree,  I  saw  thee."  As  soon 
as  she  could,  therefore,  she  went  to  her  own 
room  to  read  over  again  the  familiar  story  of 
these  miracles. 

Ozro  and  Dewstowe  had  gone  to  the  barn  to 
prepare  the  horses  for  the  road.  Dotty  had 
packed  the  traveller's  luncheon  in  his  saddle 
bags  and  returned  to  finish  up  the  "  morning's 
work."  It  was  no  light  task,  and  the  mother 
had  left  more  of  it  than  usual  for  her  to  do  that 
morning.  She  was  a  brave-hearted,  strong- 
limbed  girl,  however,  and  went  out  and  in  about 


AFTER  MANY  DA  YS.  249 

her  work  as  blithe  and  cheerful  as  if  it  had  no 
hint  of  hardship  in  it.  The  stranger  watched 
her  from  the  side  of  the  fireplace  with  evident 
approval. 

"  Dotty,"  he  said  at  length,  in  a  voice  tender 
despite  its  hoarseness.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  addressed  her  so  familiarly,  and  she 
looked  at  him  in  surprise.  She  was  just  lifting 
the  tea-kettle  to  hang  it  on  the  crane  which 
swung  over  the  fireplace,  holding  back  her  skirts 
with  the  other  hand  as  she  did  so  to  keep  them 
from  the  flame. 

"  Dotty,"  the  stranger  repeated  with  affection 
ate  emphasis,  "what  would  you  do  if  you  had  a 
fortune  ? " 

"  I  'd  pay  off  the  mortgage  on  this  Inn  for 
the  first  thing,"  said  the  girl,  with  prompt 
decision. 

"  But  suppose  that  was  already  paid  off  ?  " 

"  But  it  ain't,  and  I  cannot  suppose  anything 
of  that  sort !  " 

"  It  is,  and  you  shall  carry  the  release  to 
your  father  presently.  Now  what  would  you 
do  ? " 

"Who  paid  it?" 

"  I  did." 

"And  you  —  ?" 


250  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  wanted  to  make  a  Christmas  present." 

"  And  you  gave  all  that  ?  " 

"  I  could  give  much  more  and  not  feel  it 
seriously." 

"Why,  you  must  be  made  of  gold!  "  exclaimed 
Dotty,  in  great  surprise. 

"You  see  I  am  not,"  he  rejoined  with  a  laugh 
that  brought  on  his  cough. 

"  Well,  who  are  you  anyhow  ? " 

"  An  humble  servant  of  the  Lord  ! " 

"  So  you  said,"  responded  Dotty,  mischiev 
ously.  "  We  Ve  had  lots  of  them  here,  but  they 
are  not  generally  so  much  inclined  to  give  as  to 
receive." 

"  To  one  He  giveth  thirty,  to  another  sixty, 
and  to  another  a  hundred-fold,"  said  the  stranger, 
solemnly.  "The  Lord  has  been  very  kind  to 
me,  and  as  I  have  freely  received  so  would  I 
freely  give  to  them  He  points  out  to  me  as 
faithful  trustees  of  His  benefits." 

"  You  don't  think  I  would  be  ? "  said  the  girl 
in  surprise.  "  I  am  not  one  of  the  elect.  I  'm 
not  even  a 'professor'  at  all,  —  Ozro  nor  I  either. 
It's  queer.  Ma  brought  us  up  very  strict,  and 
Ozro  's  good  enough  for  a  whole  church  ;  but 
we  ain't  'professors/  and  it  don't  seem  like  we 
ever  will  be." 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  2$l 

The  girl  was  washing  a  great  iron  spider  in 
the  pan  of  water  in  which  the  dishes  from  the 
table  had  been  cleansed,  as  she  spoke,  holding 
it  by  one  hand,  while  she  yielded  the  dish-cloth 
with  the  other. 

"  Well,  what  would  you  do  with  a  fortune  if 
you  had  it  ? "  persisted  the  stranger. 

She  rested  the  edge  of  the  spider  on  the  table, 
and  squeezed  the  water  from  the  cloth  medita 
tively  as  she  replied  :  — 

"Really,  I  don't  know.  Pa  and  Ma  don't 
need  it  if  the  mortgage  is  paid.  Ozro  will  make 
enough  out  of  his  inventions,  and  —  and  — 
really,"  she  continued  turning  to  him,  "  I  don't 
see  as  I  should  have  any  use  for  it." 

"How  about  Mr.  Dewstowe?"  asked  Mr. 
Jackson,  slyly. 

"  Oh,"  she  answered  with  a  frank  smile,  "he's 
got  enough  of  his  own." 

"  So  you  've  no  use  for  money  ?  " 

"  No  —  that  is  —  if  I  knew  —  " 

She  hesitated,  and  looked  at  her  interlocutor 
half  distrustfully. 

"  Well,  if  you  knew  what  ? "  he  said  encour 
agingly. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  say  what  I  was 
going  to." 


252  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  to  speak  freely  to  me." 

"I  am  not,  sir,  but  —  it  is  very  strange — I 
don't  know  —  well,  it  was  about  my  brother 
Jack,  sir.  If  I — only  knew  —  he  was  comfort 
able,  sir." 

"  Your  brother  Jack  ! "  exclaimed  the  stranger, 
with  a  start.  "  I  thought  he  was  dead  ? " 

"  So  he  may  be,"  said  the  girl,  cautiously.  "  I 
only  meant  if  he  was  alive  and  was  —  well,  say 
comfortably  well  off  —  I  should  have  nothing 
more  to  ask  for,  and  would  n't  know  what  to  do 
with  money,  if  I  had  it." 

"  You  don't  want  a  rich  husband,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  resuming  her  work  and  wiping 
out  the  inside  of  the  spider  with  the  cloth  she 
held  in  her  hand,  "  I  'd  like  him  to  be  well  off 
of  course ;  but  I  should  expect  him  to  take  care 
of  that." 

"  For  fear  he  should  not,  I  want  to  make  you 
a  wedding  present ;  but  if  I  do,  you  must  not 
let  it  be  known  until  you  are  engaged  to  be 
married.  Do  you  agree  to  that  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl,  thoughtfully. 
"  I  might  think  he  ought  to  know  it  even  if  we 
were  not  really  engaged,  you  know." 

"  Well,  at  least  you  would  not  tell  him  with 
out  first  asking  me  ?  " 


'AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  2$$ 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  she  responded,  setting 
the  spider  in  its  place  by  the  chimney-jamb.  "  I 
don't  believe  I  would  like  to  have  much  under 
such  conditions.  I  would,  of  course,  remember 
that  you  did  not  want  me  to  say  anything  about 
it ;  but  I  should  not  like  to  promise  I  would  not 
tell  if  I  thought  I  ought  to." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  you  are  a  stub 
born  girl,  and  I  guess  you  come  honestly  by  that 
attribute.  If  you  will  wipe  your  hands,  I  will 
let  you  have  what  I  intended  to  give  you." 

She  turned  to  the  towel-rack  and  dried  her 
hands  in  the  method  approved  by  the  Phari 
sees,  who  washed  and  wiped  "  to  the  elbow." 
Then  she  came  and  stood  before  him.  He  took 
a  package  of  papers  from  his  pocket,  selected 
one,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  That  is  for  you,"  he  said. 

She  turned  it  over  curiously. 

"  May  I  look  at  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Certainly  ;  read  it." 

Dotty  opened  it  and  glanced  at  its  contents. 
It  was  a  long  document,  couched  in  legal  phra 
seology  which  she  only  half  understood  ;  but  she 
did  understand  enough  to  know  that  she  was 
made  richer  by  that  instrument  than  she  had 
ever  thought  to  Be. 


254  BUTTON'S  INN. 

The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  and  falling  on 
her  knees  she  seized  the  stranger's  hand  and 
kissed  it  again  and  again.  A  look  of  calm 
content  came  over  Mr.  Jackson's  face  as  he 
smoothed  the  hair  about  her  forehead  with  the 
other  hand,  and  said  :  — 

" There,  there,  — don't  cry!" 

"  But  who  are  you  that  does  such  wonderful 
things  ?  "  she  asked  appealingly. 

He  smiled  curiously  down  at  her,  and  said  : 

"  No  matter,  dear ;  I  am  one  whose  work  is 
almost  done." 

She  looked  at  him  in  wonder  and  awe  as  she 
rose  to  her  feet. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  you  would  take 
this  to  your  father,  —  and  this  to  your  mother. 
Then  by  the  time  you  get  your  cloak  on,  Mr. 
Dewstowe  will  be  ready  for  his  ride,  —  unless, 
indeed,  he  and  Ozro  have  fought  and  killed 
each  other  already." 

"  Oh,  no  fear  of  that  !  "  Dotty  answered 
brightly. 

"  Well,  perhaps  not ;  but  don't  be  too  sure. 
Run  away  now  !  " 

She  stooped  quickly  and  kissed  him,  —  then 
fled  while  her  cheeks  flushed  a  burning  red. 

"  I  could  n't  help  it !  "  she  said  to  herself  as 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS.  255 

she  went  along  the  porch.  "  And  I  'm  sure  he 
deserved  it.  Anybody  would  kiss  a  man  as 
good  as  he  is." 

Dotty  gave  her  father  a  bulky  document, 
"  with  Mr.  Jackson's  compliments,"  and  took  a 
small  sealed  note  to  her  mother,  who  was  sit 
ting  by  the  window  with  the  great  family  Bible 
open  on  her  knee.  Dotty  put  the  paper  she 
had  herself  received  in  her  pocket,  drew  on  her 
wraps,  and  when  Dewstowe  and  the  traveller 
drove  to  the  porch  with  the  latter's  horse  fas 
tened  to  the  sleigh,  she  was  ready  to  start. 
Ozro  seemed  more  serious  than  usual  as  he 
helped  her  to  her  seat,  tucked  the  robes  about 
her,  and  then  turning  quickly  away  entered  the 
house.  The  landlord  came  out  upon  the  porch 
as  they  drove  off,  looking  dazed  and  flurried. 

The  landlady  having  opened  the  letter  her 
daughter  had  brought,  read  these  words  :  — 

"  Luke  xv.  24." 

Turning  to  the  book  upon  her  knee  she  found 
the  place  indicated,  and  read  :  — 

"  For  this  my  son  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again  ; 
he  was  lost,  and  is  found.  And  they  began  to 
be  merry." 

The  snow  sparkled  in  the  chill  sunshine. 
The  bells  jingled  merrily.  Dotty's  red  hood 


256  BUTTON'S  INN. 

disappeared.  The  landlady  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Ozro's  set  face  as  he  crossed  the  porch, 
and  then  her  husband's  stalwart  form  came 
into  the  field  of  vision,  walking  hastily  and 
swinging  his  arms  nervously.  In  one  hand 
he  held  a  large  closely-written  sheet  bearing  a 
seal  of  red  wafer. 


A  MISSION   OF   MERCY. 

THE  horses  dragged  slowly  up  the  hill  on 
which  the  Inn  stood  when,  three  hours 
later,  Dewstowe  and  Dotty  returned  from  their 
"  mission  of  mercy,"  as  she  persisted  in  calling 
the  trip  they  had  taken.  They  had  driven  the 
traveller  several  miles  on  his  way  along  the 
Lake  road,  and  had  left  him  with  a  warm  sense 
of  Christmas  kindliness  about  his  heart,  to  pur 
sue  his  toilsome  and  anxious  journey.  Return 
ing,  they  ha,d  scattered  invitations  right  and 
left  for  the  merry-making  to  be  given  that  night 
at  the  Inn.  The  chill  midwinter  sun  was  near 
meridian,  but  the  air  was  full  of  icy  particles 
that  glittered  in  its  light  as  the  journey  drew 
near  its  end.  The  bays  were  flecked  with  spark 
ling  rime  that  turned  their  dark  "  points  "  into 
silver.  Terrets  and  buckles  were  covered  with 
white  frost-enamel.  Dewstowe  whipped  his  fin 
gers  vigorously  from  time  to  time.  The  horses 
loitered  along  the  half-beaten  track,  swinging 
their  heads  from  side  to  side,  and  throwing  out 
17 


258  BUTTON'S  INN. 

puffs  of  white  vapor  from  their  red  nostrils  while 
they  turned  and  looked  backward  now  and  then, 
as  if  inquiring  the  cause  of  their  master's  un 
usual  indulgence.  It  was  not  a  difficult  ques 
tion  for  one  able  to  comprehend  human  nature 
to  determine.  J.  Dewstowe,  Esq.,  had  forgot 
ten  even  the  horses  of  which  he  was  so  proud, 
and  after  whose  comfort  he  usually  looked  with 
such  unfailing  care.  Despite  their  chill  sur 
roundings  he  was  talking  very  earnestly,  and 
Dotty  was  listening  with  a  face  for  whose  bloom 
ing  color  even  the  winter  wind  could  not  be  held 
entirely  answerable.  There  was  a  ring  in  the 
voice  of  this  merchant-prince  of  the  road  which 
avouched  the  sincerity  of  his  words.  We  will  not 
play  the  eavesdropper  and  tell  what  they  were. 
It  was  the  old,  old  story,  which  we  are  told  has 
gone  out  of  date  in  these  days  of  self-conscious 
shame-facedness,  so  that  no  maiden  expects  a 
suitor  to  frame  an  honest  tale  of  love  or  ask 
her  benison  on  his  manly  aspiration.  Dewstowe 
was  a  brave  man  and  an  honest  lover.  Though 
he  had  said  that  there  was  no  sentiment  in 
his  suit,  the  remark  was  far  from  being  literally 
true.  He  was  no  sniveller,  and  did  not  whine 
or  maunder  about  in  any  sort  of  lovesick  self- 
dissection.  What  he  had  to  say  he  said  plainly 


A  MISSION  OF  MERCY.  259 

and  earnestly,  yet  withal  in  a  tone  of  self-depre 
ciation  and  with  a  feeling  of  humility  which  only 
love  can  bring,  and  which  even  it  brings  only  to 
the  heart  of  an  honest  man.  He  had  told  his 
story  and  Dotty  had  given  her  answer  when  they 
arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  that  led  up  to  the 
Inn.  There  were  tears  on  her  lashes.  His  lips 
were  set  close,  but  that  could  not  hide  the  quiver 
about  their  edges.  He  had  hardly  hoped  for 
success,  but  he  could  not  face  rejection  with 
entire  composure. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Mr.  Dewstowe,"  said  Dotty 
in  trembling  tones,  but  with  frank  confidence, 
"  for  I  like  you  better  than  any  man  I  ever  saw, 
except  Ozro.  I  thought  at  one  time  I  might 
come  to  like  you  even  better  still,  but  I  found 
it  was  not  so.  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  ask  me 
last  night,  for  I  should  have  given  you  the  same 
answer  then  as  now." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would,"  he  replied.  "  You 
really  gave  me  my  answer  weeks  ago.  I  read  it 
in  your  eyes  the  night  Ozro  had  his  fight  with 
the  dog ;  but  I  had  gone  so  far  that  you  were  in 
fairness  entitled  to  have  me  ask  you  for  your 
love,  even  if  I  could  not  hope  to  gain  it.  Of 
course  I  did  not  know  but  there  might  be  a 
chance,  and  did  not  feel  like  throwing  it  away. 


260  BUTTON'S  INN. 

I  am  no  hero,  you  know,  and  would  have  taken 
you  on  any  terms  —  unless,"  he  added  thought 
fully,  "you  really  felt  you  could  never  be  happy 
with  me. 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  however,  and  did  n't  want 
to  take  any  unfair  advantage.  Ozro  is  a  good 
fellow,  who  will  make  his  way  in  the  world,  — 
there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  He  is  n't  what  we 
call  a  pushing  man,  but  he  's  got  that  in  him 
which  pays  better  for  another  man  to  push 
than  anything  else.  The  fact  is  there  ain't  any 
thing  in  the  world  that  it  pays  so  well  to  work 
as  just  that  kind  of  brain  which  can  devise  a 
way  of  making  a  new  thing  cheaper  and  better 
than  an  old  one,  or  putting  up  a  machine  that 
will  enable  one  man  to  do  two  men's  work. 
The  world  is  just  beginning  to  learn  the  money 
there  is  in  brains,  —  especially  of  that  sort. 

"  I  would  n't  take  any  mean  advantage,  and 
tell  you  of  Ozro's  bad  luck,  or  try  to  scare  you 
with  the  idea  that  he  can't  make  a  living.  It 
is  true  he  has  been  unfortunate  with  the  ma 
chines  he  has  invented,  but  it  would  n't  have 
been  fair  to  have  told  you  of  it  before  you  had 
given  me  an  answer.  I  only  do  it  now  to  say 
that  it  is  n't  anything  to  be  discouraged  about. 
It  was  n't  his  fault,  but  another's  luck.  Don't  let 


A   MISSION  OF  MERCY.  26 1 

him  get  down-hearted.  That 's  the  only  danger. 
If  he  should  get  the  notion  that  your  desire  is 
beyond  his  ability  to  bestow,  or  that  you  would 
be  happier  without  him,  then  look  out.  I  don't 
say  he  would  make  way  with  himself,  remember, 
but  I  do  believe  he  'd  take  himself  off.  He  ain't 
exactly  touchy,  but  he  's  high-strung,  and  may 
imagine  things  that  don't  exist  at  all.  That 's 
the  way  with  that  sort  of  people,  and  I  suppose 
it  makes  them  both  better  and  worse  than 
others.  When  he  tells -you  of  the  failure  of  his 
hopes,  don't  let  him  think  it  could  make  any 
sort  of  difference  with  you." 

"It  certainly  .could  not  now,"  Dotty  answered, 
thinking  of  the  Christmas  present  in  her  pocket. 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  ever  would,"  Dewstowe 
responded  almost  bitterly.  "  I  don't  think  you 
ever  knew  how  much  you  thought  of  him,  but  I 
ought  to  have  seen  it.  When  he  tells  you  what 
has  happened,  be  sure  you  make  light  of  it." 

"  He  has  already  told  me." 

"  And  you  —  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  no  chance  to  speak  with  him 
since." 

Then  Dotty  went  on  and  told  with  a  touch 
of  pride  in  her  voice  of  the  manly  letter  she  had 
received. 


262  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  So  you  wore  his  colors  this  morning,  and  sig 
nalled  your  love  over  my  poor  head  at  breakfast !  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  have  not  worn  the  jewels  at  all." 

"  Why  not  ? " 

"  I  —  I  don't  know." 

Dewstowe  stopped  his  horses  and  looked  at 
her  sternly. 

"  Yes,  you  do.     You  wanted  to  tease  him  !  " 

"  No,  indeed  !  But  I  —  I  thought  it  would 
be  right  to  let  him  see  that  —  that  —  it  did  n't 
make  any  difference  !  " 

"  You  wished  him  to  know  that  you  had  re 
fused  me  ? " 

"  No,  but  that  my  love  did  not  depend  on  his 
success." 

"  Your  motive  was  a  good  one,  no  doubt,"  said 
Dewstowe,  hesitatingly,  as  he  started  the  horses 
up  the  hill ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  it  was  a  bad  thing 
to  do.  That  is  what  made  him  so  savage  when 
we  were  hitching  up.  He  thought  you  had  al 
ready  refused  him.  Gad  !  I  know  now  how  he 
felt !  No,  I  don't  —  I  only  guess  ;  for  I  tell  you 
what,  Dotty,  I  don't  think  I  ever  loved  you 
as  he  does.  I  don't  believe  I  could  —  there  ! 
And  now  I  'm  afraid  —  !  " 

He  chirruped  to  his  horses  and  drove  briskly 
up  the  hill. 


A   MISSION  OF  MERCY.  263 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  exclaimed  Dotty,  thinking  of  the 
deed  in  her  pocket  and  the  destruction  of  all  her 
pretty  castles  in  the  air.  She  had  felt  so  kind 
and  tender  towards  every  one  when  they  drove 
away,  and  now  at  their  return  it  seemed  as  if 
all  the  brightness  had  gone  out  of  life. 

The  frost  particles  had  grown  into  fine  flakes ; 
the  sun  shone  yellow  and  dim  through  the  thick 
ened  air ;  the  lake  with  its  burden  of  white  ice, 
with  dark  spots  intervening  where  the  angry 
waters  had  refused  to  yield  to  the  frozen  fetters 
of  winter,  had  disappeared  from  sight,  and  the 
hush  in  the  air  imported  a  storm  of  unusual 
severity.  It  was  one  of  those  sudden  changes 
which  are  frequent  enough  in  that  region,  but  it 
struck  a  chill  to  Dotty's  heart  as  she  alighted, 
ran  up  the  steps,  and  went  at  once  in  search 
of  Ozro. 

Dewstowe  stood  upon  the  porch,  whipping  his 
hands  and  stamping  his  numbed  feet,  awaiting 
her  return. 

She  came  presently,  and  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  blanched  face  as  she  said :  — 

"  He  is  not  here  !  " 

Their  eyes  told  each  other's  thoughts. 

"  Gone  anywhere  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows  ;  nobody  has  —  seen  him  ! " 


264  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Tell  Jackson,"  said  Dewstowe,  with  instant 
decision.  "  Search  the  house  quickly  but  qui 
etly.  I  will  look  about  the  barn.  The  Inn 
needs  no  more  ghosts,"  he  muttered  to  himself 
as  he  sprang  into  the  sleigh  and  drove  across 
the  road.  "  Ozro  's  a  good  fellow,  —  a  splen 
did  fellow,"  he  added  heartily,  "but  he  needs  a 
gardeen.  It's  in  the  blood,  I  guess." 


BLOTTED   OUT. 

"  1\  /T  Y  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again ;  he 
IVJL  Was  lost  and  is  found."  Over  and  over 
again  the  woman  repeated  the  words  in  a  harsh 
subvocal  monotone,  passing  her  worn  finger  back 
and  forth  along  the  lines  that  her  eyes  followed 
unconsciously.  Her  son  !  —  could  it  be  ?  She 
did  not  doubt ;  yet  the  idea  appalled  her.  Was 
this  seemingly  "  sanctified  "  stranger  her  son  ? 
She  did  not  question  his  sincerity ;  she  did  not 
doubt  his  religious  fervor.  She  only  questioned 
whether  one  with  blood-stained  hands  could  be 
come  entirely  "  sanctified."  She  used  the  term 
in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  employed  by  the  sect 
to  which  she  belonged.  She  shuddered  at  the 
thought.  Her  son  was  found  ;  the  dead  was 
alive  !  He  had  repented  of  his  sin  ;  he  had 
come  to  make  atonement !  This  was  the  reason 
he  had  taken  such  interest  in  Ozro.  He  wished 
to  do  good  to  those  whom  he  had  injured,  —  to 
repair  the  evil  he  had  wrought.  Her  prayers 
had  been  answered  more  fully  than  she  had  ever 


266  BUTTON'S  INN. 

dreamed  they  would  be.  Daily,  almost  hourly, 
she  had  prayed,  —  not  that  she  might  see  his 
face,  not  for  his  prosperity,  but  that  he  might 
see  his  sin.  And  now,  behold,  what  she  had  not 
sought  had  been  added  to  the  thing  for  which 
she  had  ceaselessly  petitioned,  —  she  saw  him 
prosperous,  peaceful,  penitent. 

"  My  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again ;  he  was 
lost  and  is  found." 

Her  trembling  lips  repeated  the  text,  and  her 
withered  hands  drew  the  coarse  linen  handker 
chief  from  the  place  where  it  always  hung  at  her 
side,  —  its  end  folded  beneath  the  band  of  her 
apron,  —  and  wiped  away  the  tears  that  were 
coursing  silently  down  her  faded  cheeks.  Hav 
ing  restored  it  to  its  place,  she  reached  out  and 
took  her  snuff-box  from  the  window-sill,  tapped 
the  cover  sharply,  turned  it  gently  off,  and 
slipped  it  deftly  beneath  the  box  which  she  held 
in  her  left  hand,  while  with  her  right  she  took 
a  pinch  of  the  pungent  impalpable  powder. 
She  applied  this  to  her  nostrils  meditatively, 
restored  the  cover,  and  returned  the  box  to 
its  place  just  as  her  husband  entered  the  room. 
She  was  so  startled  by  his  appearance  that  a  bit 
of  the  snuff  dropped  on  the  white  page  upon 
her  lap.  She  brushed  it  carefully  off  while 


BLOTTED   OUT.  26/ 

recovering  her  composure.  She  noticed  that  it 
left  a  stain  upon  the  text :  "  My  son  was  dead 
and  is  alive  again ;  he  was  lost  and  is  — " 

The  dark  maccoboy  clung  to  the  rough  hand 
made  paper  of  the  book  and  blotted  out  the  last 
word. 

"  Found  !  "  she  repeated  to  herself.  "  He  is 
found  !  It  is  blotted  out  of  the  book,  but  I  know 
it  by  heart.  It  is  God's  word.  He  wrote  it,  and 
it  cannot  be  rubbed  out." 

Nevertheless  the  blot  troubled  her.  She 
lifted  the  great  book  in  both  hands,  and  tried  to 
blow  the  clinging  dust  away ;  but  still  the  blot 
remained.  Her  husband  came  toward  her. 
She  trembled  as  she  laid  the  closed  book  upon 
her  lap,  and  folded  her  hands  upon  it,  with  her 
handkerchief  in  one  of  them.  It  comported  well 
with  herself  and  her  surroundings  ;  she  had  spun 
the  coarse  linen  threads  and  woven  the  peculiar 
diamond  mesh  herself. 

"  I  had  to  come  and  tell  ye,  Lucy,"  said  the 
landlord,  apologetically,  —  it  was  almost  eighteen 
years  since  he  had  been  in  his  wife's  apartment, 
and  he  felt  strangely  diffident  as  he  approached 
her,  —  "I  had  to  come  and  show  ye  this." 

He  held  out  the  released  mortgage  as  he 
spoke.  She  took  it  absently. 


268  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Won't  ye  set  down  ? "  she  said,  not  look 
ing  up. 

"  Can't,"  he  responded  awkwardly,  as  he  took 
hold  of  the  back  of  a  chair,  turned  it  around, 
and  leaned  upon  it.  "  Got  to  go  and  see  Jack 
son.  He  did  it,  ye  know. "  Good  of  him,  was  n't 
it  ?  What  do  you  suppose  made  him  do  it  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  but  her  lips  repeated,  — 

"  My  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again  ;  he 
was  lost  and  is  found." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  more  distinctly 
than  the  rest.  The  landlord  heard,  but  did  not 
understand. 

"  Heh  ? "  he  inquired,  turning  his  head  upon 
one  side  ;  "  so  much  found  ?  I  should  think 
it  was  —  'found  in  the  dishwater,'  as  they  say. 
Won't  ye  go  and  tell  him  ye  're  obliged  ? " 

She  shook  her  head  ;  he  saw  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Could  n't  do  it  ?  Well,  't  would  be  hard  ; 
an'  he  a  stranger  too.  I  '11  tell  him  how  ye 
feel." 

He  spoke  very  tenderly,  and  went  out  care 
fully,  as  one  moves  about  in  a  sick-room,  as  if 
anxious  not  to  disturb  her  emotion. 

The  landlord  found  Mr.  Jackson  sitting  by  a 
table  covered  with  papers.  He  was  writing 


BLOTTED   OUT.  269 

busily,  and  paid  little  attention  to  the  effusive 
thanks  of  his  host  until  he  spoke  of  the  land 
lady's  gratitude. 

"  Wanted  to  come  and  thank  ye,  but  could  n't, 
sir,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Ye  know,  Mr.  Jackson, 
there  's  some  things  one  can't  do,  especially  with 
strangers." 

A  grave  smile  stole  across  the  face  of  his  lis 
tener.  The  landlord  wondered  what  it  meant. 
Somehow  there  was  always  something  about  his 
strange  guest  that  puzzled  and  confused  him. 
Whether  it  was  his  austerity  of  life  or  gravity  of 
manner,  he  could  not  tell.  At  all  events,  it  cut 
short  his  effusiveness,  and  he  went  back  to  the 
public-room  much  less  elated  than  when  he  left 
it.  The  mortgage  was  released  to  his  wife.  The 
Inn  was  hers  without  lien  or  incumbrance.  They 
need  not  be  afraid  of  being  turned  out  of  doors 
in  their  old  age  now.  So  he  was  saying  to  him 
self  when  he  met  Ozro  upon  the  porch. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  '11  give  it  to  him  now,"  he 
thought.  "  Just  like  her ;  thinks  probably  I 
ought  to  have  used  that  money  to  keep  it  from 
spilin'.  So  I  ought.  An'  then  the  trinkets  ! 
Wonder  if  Jack  did  take  'em.  I  don't  believe 
it ;  never  did.  But  if  he  did  n't,  who  could  have 
got  'em  ?  Lucy  swore  she  see'd  'em.  Other 


2/O  BUTTON'S  INN. 

folks  see'd  'em  too.  Could  n't  have  been  any 
body  in  the  room  after  Jack  left.  Wonder  if  she 
gave  'em  to  him.  It 's  queer  what  become  of  'em, 
that 's  a  fact.  I  b'lieve  I  '11  go  up  into  the  room 
and  look.  I  hain't  been  in  it  in  a  long  time,  and 
seems  somehow  as  if  I  might  learn  something 
about  the  matter  if  I  went  there  now." 

He  crossed  the  public-room,  climbed  the 
stairs,  and  entered  what  had  so  long  been  to 
him  a  chamber  of  horrors.  He  looked  around 
timidly,  as  if  recalling  the  scene  of  eighteen 
years  before.  He  crossed  softly  to  where  the 
bed  had  stood  ;  looked  out  of  the  window  with  a 
shudder ;  turned  from  his  way  as  he  went  back 
toward  the  fireplace,  as  if  the  dead  woman  were 
still  sitting  in  his  path.  He  stood  upon  the 
hearth  and  looked  searchingly  about  the  room. 
Why  would  it  not  yield  up  its  mysteries  ?  His 
eye  fell  upon  Ozro's  machines  :  he  had  never 
seen  them,  and  had  paid  little  heed  to  the  con 
versation  about  them.  He  now  sat  down  and 
examined  them  closely.  He  was  not  much  of  a 
mechanician,  but  he  knew  enough  of  machinery 
to  appreciate  the  operation  of  the  models  and 
admire  their  ingenuity. 

"  The  creetur  certainly  has  got  good  iclees," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  and  is  handy  with  tools 


BLOTTED  OUT.  2JI 

too,  considerin'.  He  ain't  sech  a  bad  fellow 
nuther,  if  it  had  n't  always  seemed  as  if  he  was 
a  sort  of  standin'  reproach  for  what  I  Ve  done, 
or  somebody  thinks  I  Ve  done.  I  hain't  really 
anything  ag'in  him,  and  he  has  been  uncommon 
good  to  look  after  things  about  the  Inn,  —  there 
ain't  no  denyin'  that.  But  't  ain't  nateral  for  a 
man  to  take  to  one  that 's  bein'  thrown  up  to 
him  all  the  time,  directly  or  indirectly,  no  matter 
how  good  he  is." 

A  slight  noise  disturbed  his  reverie,  and  look 
ing  around  he  sat  frozen  to  the  marrow  by  the 
sight  that  met  his  gaze.  The  floor  from  the 
side  of  the  chimney  to  the  wall  had  fallen  away, 
and  a  dark  cavity  yawned  in  its  place.  As  he 
looked,  a  gray  head  rose  above  the  edge,  a  worn 
wrinkled  hand  grasped  the  side,  a  pale  face 
and  white  kerchief  came  out  of  the  depths,  and 
the  mistress  of  Button's  Inn  clambered  up  on 
her  knees  and  slowly  and  cautiously  rose  to  her 
feet.  With  noiseless  steps  she  crossed  the  room, 
carefully  avoiding  the  place  where  the  bed  had 
stood,  examined  the  wall  with  her  fingers,  stole 
along  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

Lonny  Button  shivered  in  his  chair  with  hor 
ror.  The  chill  winter  sun  was  near  the  meridian, 
but  he  knew  that  he  was  looking  at  the  ghost  of 


BUTTON'S  INN. 


the  Inn.  He  remembered  the  face  that  peered 
out  of  the  window  that  terrible  night  when  he 
had  glanced  at  it  along  his  rifle  barrel,  and  pulled 
the  trigger  with  such  desperate  intent.  He  could 
just  see  in  the  ceiling  above  his  wife's  head  the 
path  of  the  silver  bullet.  The  cold  sweat  burst 
out  on  his  brow  as  he  thought  what  would  have 
been  the  result  had  his  aim  been  true.  He  rose 
from  his  chair  and  tottejed  toward  her. 

"  Lucy  !  "  he  called  in  a  strained  whisper. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him,  but  did  not 
speak.  Her  eyes  seemed  glassy  and  unnatural  ; 
he  was  sure  they  did  not  see  at  all.  She  shrank 
quickly  back  from  the  window  as  he  spoke,  put 
her  fingers  in  her  ears,  and  crouched  down  on 
the  floor.  Before  he  could  think  what  this 
strange  pantomime  might  mean,  his  ears  were 
assailed  with  the  shrieks  he  had  never  forgotten, 
and  a  terror  greater  than  he  had  ever  known 
before  compelled  him  to  turn  and  flee  down  the 
narrow  stairs.  As  he  glanced  back  from  the 
landing,  he  saw  the  crouching  figure  flit  across 
the  room  and  disappear  in  the  gloom  beside  the 
chimney.  But  he  could  not  stay  his  terrified 
steps.  Others  had  heard  the  shrieks,  and  came 
rushing  up  the  stairs.  Upon  them  the  landlord 
fell  like  an  avalanche,  and  all  were  borne  back- 


BLOTTED  OUT.  2?$ 

ward  upon  the  floor  of  the  public-room.  The 
landlord  was  picked  up  half  insensible.  In  the 
midst  of  the  confusion  the  stranger  entered. 
By  some  accident  his  hat  was  off.  The  strip 
of  white  hair  that  crossed  his  crown  shone  un 
cannily  among  his  jetty  locks.  His  eyes  burned 
brightly,  and  his  sallow  cheeks  were  strangely 
flushed.  He  turned  to  the  little  corner  cupboard 
beside  the  chimney,  opened  it  familiarly,  and 
pouring  out  a  glass  of  spirits  gave  it  to  the 
moaning,  trembling  landlord. 

When  they  had  placed  the  shivering  man  in 
his  great  armchair,  the  stranger  went  up  the 
stairs  into  the  room  above.  Others  followed. 
The  winter  sky  sent  its  chill  light  into  every 
corner,  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen.  The  land 
lord,  questioned  as  to  what  he  had  encountered, 
only  shook  his  head  and  moaned.  The  ghost 
had  undoubtedly  appeared  again,  and  this  time 
in  broad  daylight. 

When  Dotty  returned,  she  found  her  mother 
lying  in  troubled  sleep  upon  the  bed.  In  reply 
to  her  anxious  inquiry  for  Ozro,  the  dazed  woman 
would  only  repeat,  as  she  moved  her  head  from 
side  to  side,  — 

"  Blotted  out,  Dotty  !  blotted  out,  —  out  of  the 
Book  of  Life ! " 

18 


A   SUDDEN    START. 

IT  was  with  no  feeling  of  coquettishness  that 
Dotty  had  failed  to  wear  the  jewels  Ozro 
had  sent  as  a  token  of  his  love.  She  had  long 
ceased  to  entertain  the  idea  of  accepting  Mr. 
Dewstowe,  and  indeed  felt  somewhat  humili 
ated  at  the  position  in  which  she  found  herself. 
She  had  undoubtedly  encouraged  his  suit,  and 
at  one  time  had  —  so  at  least  she  thought  — 
made  up  her  mind  to  accept  him.  The  absurd 
arrangement  which  had  put  off  until  Christmas 
the  final  determination  of  her  preference,  though 
proposed  by  Ozro  to  prevent  a.  too  hasty  de 
cision  in  his  rival's  favor,  had  brought  with  it 
very  embarrassing  consequences.  She  could 
not  say  that  anything  had  occurred  in  the 
mean  time  to  diminish  her  regard  for  the  mag 
nate  of  the  road.  Indeed,  all  that  she  had  come 
to  know  of  him  had  enhanced  her  esteem,  espe 
cially  his  recognition  and  appreciation  of  Ozro's 
merits.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Dewstowe  was  willing  to  risk  money  on  Ozro's 
inventions  had  set  the  seal  to  her  determination 


A   SUDDEN  START.  2?$ 

in  favor  of  his  rival.  She  would  have  admired 
her  old  playmate's  ingenuity,  but  might  have 
hesitated  both  to  encumber  his  future  and  to 
intrust  him  with  so  difficult  a  task  as  the  re 
demption  of  the  fortunes  of  the  Button  family, 
had  not  his  work  received  the  prompt  indorse 
ment  of  the  practical  and  successful  merchant. 
That  settled  the  whole  matter.  She  did  not 
need  this  to  show  her  that  she  loved  Ozro,  or 
to  convince  her  of  his  merits,  but  it  served  to 
satisfy  her  that  her  love  would  be  no  serious 
incumbrance  to  him.  It  mattered  not  in  the 
least  that  his  first  invention  had  proved  a  failure. 
The  fact  that  it  had  commanded  the  instant  ap 
proval  of  a  cautious,  practical  man  of  affairs  like 
Mr.  Dewstowe,  so  that  he  was  willing  to  venture 
a  thousand  dollars  on  its  success,  was  enough. 
To  have  come  so  near  success  was  a  sufficient 
proof  of  the  power  to  succeed.  After  that  mo 
ment  she  had  not  hesitated  ;  her  mind  was  fully 
made  up.  If  at  any  time  Ozro  had  asked  —  if 
he  had  even  given  her  an  opportunity  —  she 
would  gladly  have  anticipated  the  decision  and 
saved  herself  the  embarrassment  of  Dewstovve's 
presence  at  this  time. 

As  affairs  were,  however,  the  problem  which 
confronted  her  was  of  a  twofold  character.   What 


2/6  BUTTON'S  INN. 

should  she  say  to  Dewstowe  ?  How  excuse  the 
inconsistency  of  her  conduct,  and  make  him  un 
derstand  that  there  was  neither  any  purpose  on 
her  part  to  trifle  with  his  feelings  or  slight  his 
love,  —  that  she  had  encouraged  his  advances 
with  the  expectation  of  granting  his  suit,  but 
had  been  compelled  by  overmastering  love  to 
reject  him.  This  task  was  made  all  the  more 
difficult  by  the  stranger's  bounty.  She  saw  that 
not  one  alone,  but  both  of  her  lovers  were  likely 
to  attribute  to  her  a  mercenary  motive.  She 
was  very  far  from  being  sordid,  but  the  wants  of 
her  parents  seemed  so  burdensome  that  she  had 
dreaded  to  impose  them  on  Ozro.  Her  purpose 
had  been  not  to  gratify  herself,  but  to  sacrifice 
herself.  Now  she  feared  that  Ozro  would  at 
tribute  his  acceptance  to  her  good  fortune,  and 
Dewstowe  believe  that  the  same  accident  led  to 
his  rejection.  She  had  hoped  to  inform  Ozro  of 
the  reason  why  she  did  not  wear  at  breakfast  the 
trinkets  he  had  sent  her,  but  the  exciting  events 
of  the  morning  interfered,  and  she  saw  as  she 
drove  away  with  Dewstowe  that  Ozro  had  mis 
construed  her  conduct.  She  was  sorry  to  have 
given  him  pain,  and  yet  an  irresistible  tendency 
to  mischief  induced  her  to  add  to  his  dejection  by 
the  gayety  with  which  she  set  off  with  his  rival. 


A  SUDDEN  START.  2JJ 

All  this  was  unknown  to  Ozro.  He  had  never 
before  permitted  himself  seriously  to  doubt  the 
result  of  his  suit.  Though  he  had  humbly  de 
clared  that  he  would  abide  her  decision,  he  had 
not  once  imagined  that  it  might  be  adverse  to 
him.  His  confidence  in  his  own  ability  was  on 
a  par  with  his  trust  in  her  love.  He  understood 
Dotty's  anxiety  as  to  her  parents,  and  would  not 
have  felt  greatly  surprised  had  she  persisted  in 
her  idea  of  sacrificing  herself  for  them  had  affairs 
remained  as  they  were  when  he  had  stipulated 
for  delay.  Although  his  first  efforts  had  mis 
carried,  he  thought  that  he  had  shown  ability 
enough  to  remove  her  doubt  as  to  his  success. 
He  had  seen  her  go  off  with  his  rival  the  day 
before,  never  doubting  that  the  question  to  be 
determined  on  the  morrow  would  be  practically 
decided  before  their  return.  He  did  not  doubt 
therefore  that  Dotty  would  wear  the  jewels  he 
had  sent  her,  and  had  scanned  her  attire  in  the 
confident  hope  of  discovering  them  when  they 
met  at  breakfast.  The  fact  that  she  did  not, 
overwhelmed  him  with  consternation.  This  was 
increased  by  the  character  of  the  letter  he  re 
ceived,  and  he  did  not  recover  his  equanimity  un 
til  some  time  after  her  departure  with  Dewstowe 
and  the  traveller.  Then  for  the  first  time  distrust 


278  .  BUTTON'S  INN. 

of  her  love  entered  his  mind.  To  say  he  was 
jealous  would  be  incorrect :  he  was  surprised, 
hurt,  angry.  He  did  not  believe  she  preferred 
his  rival,  but  thought  she  did  prefer  his  rival's 
money.  He  recalled  her  mother's  declaration, 
"  She  loves  his  horses,  his  fine  clothes,  his 
money!"  She  was  not  sacrificing  herself, — 
there  was  no  longer  any  question  of  that,  —  she 
was  selling  herself. 

So  Ozro  said  to  himself  as  he  listened  to  their 
laughter  as  they  drove  away.  Then  he  went  to 
his  work-room  and  read  again  the  letter  he  had 
received, pondering  its  words  carefully.  When  he 
concluded,  his  face  had  grown  stern.  He  would 
not  grace  her  triumph.  When  she  returned  she 
should  find  that  he  had  made  good  his  words  : 
he  would  leave  the  Inn  without  delay.  Then  he 
remembered  his  engagement  with  the  stranger. 
He  went  into  his  own  room  and  made  up  a  small 
bundle,  —  very  small,  he  thought,  as  he  put  it  in 
the  pocket  of  the  long-skirted  overcoat  that  hung 
across  his  arm.  He  would  not  take  much  from 
the  Inn.  The  package  of  bills  —  now  worthless 
—  which  the  landlord  had  picked  up  at  his  dead 
mother's  side,  and  the  little  red  morocco-covered 
Bible  in  which  she  had  written  his  name  were 
among  the  few  articles  he  retained.  They  re- 


A  SUDDEN  START.  279 

minded  him  of  her,  —  the  dear,  dead  mother 
whose  fate  was  so  sad  and  mysterious,  but 
whose  nature  had  been  so  sweet.  He  some 
times  thought  he  could  remember  her.  He 
went  back  into  the  room  where  she  had  died, 
and  knelt  by  the  low  rocker  in  which  she 
used  to  sit.  It  had  never  been  removed  from 
the  room,  and  no  one  but  he  had  occupied  it 
since.  He  called  it  his  mother's  chair.  He 
wished  he  could  take  it  with  him.  When  he 
rose  from  his  knees  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes, 
and  his  look  was  less  stern,  but  none  the  less 
resolute.  He  thought  of  his  mother's  grave  — 
her  last  resting-place  upon  the  bleak  edge  of  the 
cliff  —  as  he  descended  to  the  stranger's  room. 
He  was  grateful  to  the  hemlocks  that  bent  over 
it  protectingly.  He  would  go  and  see  it  again. 
It  seemed  like  bidding  his  mother  farewell,  —  so 
closely  are  individuals  linked  with  inanimate  ob 
jects  by  association.  When  he  turned  his  foot 
steps  from  the  Inn  he  well  knew  it  would  be 
never  to  return. 

Ozro  knocked  at  the  stranger's  door,  and  was 
bidden  to  enter.  Its  occupant  was  writing  busily 
at  a  little  table  drawn  in  front  of  the  fireplace, 
in  the  corner  of  which  he  sat.  The  table  was 
covered  with  papers,  while  others  were  to  be 


280  BUTTON'S  INN. 

seen  in  his  portmanteau  which  lay  open  beside 
him. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me,  I  think  ?  "  Ozro  ex 
plained,  as  he  closed  the  door  and  stood  with  his 
cap  and  comforter  in  his  hand  and  overcoat  upon 
his  arm. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  stranger,  nodding  toward 
a  chair  at  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace. 

"Really,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  Ozro,  apologeti 
cally,  "I  —  I  have  not  time  to  stay." 

The  stranger  looked  up  at  him  and  saw  that 
he  was  wearing  his  best  clothes,  —  mostly  home 
spun,  but  newer  and  neater  than  he  usually  wore. 

"  Going  away  ?  "  he  asked. 

"That  is  my  intention,"  the  young  man  re 
plied  stiffly. 

"Where?" 

"I  have  not  yet  determined,"  Ozro  answered 
with  assumed  carelessness. 

"Is  n't  it  rather  unusual  for  a  man  to  be  in 
such  a  hurry  to  set  out  on  a  journey  of  which  he 
does  not  know  the  end  ? "  asked  the  stranger, 
with  a  smile.  The  broad  white  hat  was  pushed 
a  little  way  back  from  the  forehead  ;  the  full 
black  beard  made  a  fitting  frame  for  the  face, 
which  though  dark  and  sallow  had  in  it  no  little 
nobility  and  power. 


A  SUDDEN  START.  28 1 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Ozro  in  some 
confusion. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  hinder  you,  young  man," 
said  the  other,  severely.  "  If  you  are  in  haste  I 
have  no  right  to  detain  you ;  but  let  me  give  you 
a  word  of  advice  before  you  start.  Our  paths 
may  not  cross  again,  and  I  may  have  no  other 
opportunity.  Have  you  time  to  hear  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  It  is  this  :  don't  start  out  on  a  journey  with 
a  lie  in  your  mouth.  It  is  apt  to  bring  bad 
luck."  There  was  a  fire  in  the  stranger's  eye 
which  Ozro  had  seldom  noted  before. 

"  I  did  not  mean  —  "  he  stammered. 

"  You  did  not  mean  to  tell  the  truth,"  said  the 
other.  "  That  is  all  there  is  of  it.  You  did  not 
wish  me  to  know  that  you  were  about  to  set  off 
on  a  rash  and  foolish  journey,  and  so  said  you 
had  not  time  to  speak  with  me.  Do  not  start 
that  way  in  life.  If  you  do  not  wish  to  reveal 
your  purposes,  either  say  so  explicitly  or  say 
nothing  at  all." 

Ozro  bowed  in  acknowledgment  of  the  justice 
of  this  criticism. 

"  Now,  young  man,"  said  the  stranger,  speak 
ing  with  grave  sarcasm,  taking  out  a  massive 
silver  watch  which  hung  by  a  black  ribbon  at 


282  BUTTON'S  INN. 

his  fob, — an  English  chronometer  whose  pos 
session  had  been  one  of  the  indications  of 
abundant  wealth  on  which  Ozro  had  based  the 
estimate  of  his  means,  — "  Now,  young  man, 
I  do  want  a  little  of  your  valuable  time.  I 
am  willing  to  pay  you  for  it  if  you  think  you 
cannot  give  it ;  but  I  hoped  my  request  would 
be  sufficient." 

"  I  will  stay,"  said  Ozro,  composedly  deposit 
ing  his  overcoat  upon  a  chair,  and  seating  him 
self  in  the  corner  opposite,  holding  his  cap  in 
his  hand,  and  taking  no  notice  of  the  irony  in 
the  other's  tone. 

"  So  you  were  not  really  in  haste  ? " 

"  Enough  to  justify  my  words,  but  not  enough 
to  cause  you  any  disappointment." 

"  You  intended  to  leave  the  Inn  ? " 

Ozro  nodded. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  seem  inquisitive,  but  may  I 
ask  why  ? " 

The  young  man  did  not  answer.  He  had 
never  spoken  of  his  love  to  any  one  but  Dotty, 
save  when  compelled  by  Dewstowe's  frank  ad 
missions  ;  and  it  seemed  a  sort  of  profanation  to 
admit  another  to  the  secrets  of  his  heart. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  other,  after  a  moment's 
thought.  "  I  don't  know  as  I  blame  you.  Ap- 


A  SUDDEN  START.  283 

pearances  are  against  her,  —  there's  no  deny 
ing  that.  But  be  careful,  young  man.  Love 
should  be  very  patient.  Remember  that  doubt 
was  your  father's  besetting  sin." 

There  was  a  solemn  tenderness  in  the  stran 
ger's  tone.  Ozro  gazed  at  him  in  surprise, 
amounting  almost  to  terror. 

"  My  father  !  "  he  ejaculated. 

"  Yes,  your  father.  His  jealous  suspicion  of 
the  woman  he  loved  even  to  desperation  de 
stroyed  two  lives  and  wrecked  a  third.  Do  not 
let  your  folly  perpetuate  his  fault." 

Ozro  sat  absently  turning  his  cap  over  and 
over  in  his  hands. 

"  Did  you  know  —  my —  mother  ?  "  he  asked, 
without  looking  up. 

The  stranger  started. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  was  she  —  ? " 

"  She  was  everything  a  woman  ought  to  be," 
interrupted  the  other,  hastily  and  emphatically. 

"  And  —  my  father  ?  "  glancing  shyly  toward 
the  man  he  interrogated. 

"  I  knew  little  of  him,"  said  the  stranger, 
calmly.  "  He  was  no  doubt  a  good  man.  He 
could  love,  but  could  not  trust  ;  or  rather  did 
not  understand  that  love  must  be  free  —  that  it 


284  BUTTON'S  INN. 

will  serve  with  an  abjectness  a  slave  never  knew, 
but  will  not  submit  to  tyranny." 

"  And  my  father  —  ?  " 

"  Demanded  obedience." 

"  And  my  mother  —  ?  " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  her  !  "  exclaimed  the  stran 
ger,  excitedly,  rising  and  pacing  back  and  forth 
across  the  narrow  room. 

"  You  —  you  ?"  queried  the  young  man,  trem 
ulously,  rising  and  peering  into  the  face  of  the 
elder. 

"  I  loved  her,  God  knows  !  And  I  love  her 
still ! "  said  the  stranger,  raising  his  tearful  eyes 
and  clasping  his  hands  as  he  spoke. 

"  And  you  are  —  ?  "  said  Ozro,  taking  a  step 
toward  him. 

The  stranger  looked  at  him,  read  the  thought 
his  tongue  refused  to  utter,  shook  his  head 
sadly,  and  said  humbly, — 

"  I  am  Abner  Jackson  ;   I  was  Jack  Button." 

Ozro  gazed  at  him  in  amazement  not  unmixed 
with  horror.  The  stranger  stood  with  eyes  cast 
down  and  hands  clasped  before  him,  as  if  waiting 
for  the  other  to  speak. 

"  Yet  they  say  you  killed  her ! "  exclaimed 
Ozro,  hoarsely,  after  a  time. 

"  I  was  the  cause  of  her  death,"  was  the  reply, 


A   SUDDEN  START.  285 

in  a  tone  of  stern  self-accusation.  '  Still  he  did 
not  lift  his  eyes. 

"  But  you  did  not  intend  it ;  you  did  not  mean 
to  do  her  harm  ? " 

The  man  was  Dotty's  brother ;  and  despite 
the  fact  that  she  seemed  to  have  preferred 
Devvstowe,  he  could  not  think  of  her  brother 
as  a  criminal. 

"  I  would  have  died  to  save  her  a  moment's 
sorrow." 

"  Then  you  are  not  her  —  her  murderer  ? "  said 
Ozro,  in  a  tone  of  relief. 

"  Not  hers  /"  came  from  the  drooping  figure, 
—  "  not  hers  !  It  was  the  other  whom  I  slew." 

"  The  other  !  "  exclaimed  Ozro,  drawing  back. 
There  was  surprise  and  horror  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes  ;  your  father  !  " 

"  My  father  !     You  —  killed  —  my  father  ? " 

"  Even  so ! "  replied  the  other,  in  the  same 
quiet  tone. 

"  How  ?  Why  ? "  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
trembling  as  he  felt  that  he  stood  at  length  on 
the  brink  of  the  mystery  clouded  by  so  many 
silent  years. 

"  That  is  what  I  wished  to  tell  you,"  said  the 
elder  man,  looking  up,  and  speaking  with  the 
utmost  composure.  "  But  if  you  have  not  time 


286  BUTTON'S  INN. 

to  hear  the  story,  or  would  prefer  to  read  it,  the 
facts  are  all  in  this  paper,  which  has  been  written 
over  and  over  again  to  fit  it  for  your  perusal." 

"  I  will  hear  you,"  said  Ozro,  mechanically. 
His  lips  were  dry,  and  he  could  not  say  more. 

The  other  motioned  to  him  to  sit  down,  re 
sumed  his  own  seat,  and  mechanically  filled  one 
of  the  long  reed-stemmed  pipes  he  habitually 
used,  several  of  which  stood  about  the  fireplace. 

"  I  want  to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,"  he  said,  when  he  had 
lighted  it  ;  "  and  somehow  I  seem  to  think 
clearer  when  I  have  a  pipe  in  my  mouth.  Not 
that  I  need  to  think  much  about  what  I  'm 
going  to  tell  you,  for  there  has  n't  been  a  day 
in  many  a  year  that  I  have  n't  been  over  it  from 
A  to  Izzard.  Perhaps  it 's  the  habit  of  thinking 
and  not  talking  that  makes  it  so  hard  for  me 
to  begin,  now  that  I  have  to  do  what  I  have  so 
long  thought  of  doing." 

He  smoked  awhile  in  silence,  and  then  began 
his  narrative. 


YESTERDAY'S   WOE. 

"  T  HAD  been  down  to  the  harbor  that  day,  — 
J-  eighteen  years  ago  yesterday.  It  seems 
almost  an  eternity  to  me  now  ;  but  that 's  all 
it  is.  I  had  met  your  mother  here,  and  fallen 
madly  in  love  with  her.  She  did  not  know  it, 
though  everybody  else  did.  Every  day  my  love 
grew  more  and  more  desperate.  I  knew  she  did 
not  care  for  me,  and  had  little  hope  that  she  ever 
would.  She  was  not  one  of  my  kind,  —  not  as  I 
was  then.  I  have  seen  the  time  since  when  I 
have  thought  she  would  not  have  been  altogether 
ashamed  of  the  love  or  unobservant  of  the  par 
tiality  of  such  an  one  as  I  had  become.  But  that 
is  neither  here  nor  there,  —  just  a  vain  man's 
fancy.  I  knew  nothing  of  her  relations  with  her 
husband,  —  what  he  was  like,  or  whether  she 
really  cared  for  him.  Somehow  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  had  treated  her  unjustly  ;  and 
that  while  she  respected  scrupulously  the  legal 
tie  that  bound  them  together,  she  had  very  little 
affection  for  him. 


288  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  was  a  wild  young  fellow  then,  though  my 
love  for  your  mother  did  much  to  sober  me,  —  for 
it  was  a  love  which,  however  much  of  pain  it  has 
brought,  had  no  evil  in  it.  To  me  it  was  little 
less  than  adoration.  To  her  it  brought  no  stain, 
because  she  was  unconscious  of  it.  The  star  is 
not  dimmed  by  the  faults  of  the  worshipper.  Of 
course,  my  companions  were  not  slow  to  rally 
me  on  my  well-known  devotion  to  the  myste 
rious  lady  at  the  Inn,  and  naturally  enough  I 
did  not  hesitate  to  boast  of  the  love  I  could  not 
deny  nor  conceal.  On  that  day  the  jests  made 
at  my  expense  in  the  bar-room  of  the  tavern 
where  the  stages  stopped  were  both  numerous 
and  unmistakable.  To  all  of  them  I  answered, 
giving  such  reasons  as  I  might  for  the  infatua 
tion  they  chose  to  ascribe  to  me. 

"Among  the  passengers  by  the  stage  of  the 
day  before  from  the  East  was  one  who  seemed  to 
take  great  interest  in  our  banter.  He  inquired 
the  name  of  the  woman  to  whom  reference  was 
made  ;  how  long  she  had  been  at  the  Inn  ;  and 
how  long  it  had  been  since  I  returned.  These 
questions  were  in  the  main  answered  by  my  com 
panions,  sometimes  by  myself.  When  he  asked 
in  regard  to  her  husband,  I  answered  harshly,  no 
doubt.  I  had  an  infinite  contempt  as  well  as  a 


YESTERDAY'S    WOE.  289 

wild  unreasoning  hate  for  the  man  who  had  evi 
dently  caused  her  grief.  I  did  not  know  that  I 
was  jealous,  though  no  doubt  I  was ;  love  is  very 
unreasonable.  I  had  formed  a  picture  in  my  own 
mind  of  the  man  I  hated.  This  strong,  clean 
shaven,  blue-eyed  gentleman,  of  suave  though 
somewhat  severe  manner,  did  not  at  all  fill  the 
requirements  of  my  fancy.  I  did  not  dream  that 
he  had  any  special  interest  in  the  matter  until, 
just  as  the  stage  was  about  to  start  in  this  direc 
tion,  he  brought  me  a  letter  addressed  to  your 
mother,  and  asked  me  to  deliver  it  into  her  hands. 
Even  then  my  suspicion  was  but  a  vague  one. 

"  '  Who  are  you  ? '  I  asked. 

"  *  Oh,  you  need  not  fear  a  rival/  he  answered, 
with  a  polite  sneer.  '  I  once  knew  this  lady's 
husband,  and  the  letter  contains  news  that  will 
no  doubt  be  very  interesting  to  her.  If  possible, 
I  would  like  you  to  deliver  it  immediately  on  the 
arrival  of  the  stage.' 

"  I  accepted  the  commission  ;  and  all  the  way 
up  the  hill  the  conviction  grew  stronger  in  my 
mind  that  this  cold,  polished  man  was  the  hus 
band  who  had  once  cast  her  off,  and  had  come 
intending  to  set  up  anew  his  marital  claim,  but 
had  been  deterred  by  the  jests  of  the  loungers  at 
the  tavern.  I  did  not  doubt  that  the  letter  I  bore 


2QO  BUTTON'S  INN. 

was  an  angry  one,  probably  a  final  renunciation. 
The  thought  gave  me  a  most  exultant  feeling. 
Somehow  it  seemed  to  bring  her  nearer  to  me,  to 
know  that  she  was  separated  irrevocably  from 
him.  Though  some  of  the  jests  had  pointed  un 
equivocally  to  my  attachment  for  her,  no  word  had 
been  breathed  reflecting  on  her  good  name.  My 
associates  knew  better  than  to  venture  to  such 
length  ;  it  would  have  cost  any  man  his  life  to 
have  hinted  anything  to  her  discredit  in  my  hear 
ing.  The  worst  intimation  was  that  we  might  be 
married  whenever  the  law  made  it  feasible.  Per 
haps  I  even  asserted  that  it  was  the  law  that  stood 
between  us  rather  than  the  husband.  If  I  did,  it 
was  a  sin  which  I  have  grievously  repented. 

"When  we  reached  the  Inn,  and  I  saw  your 
mother  standing  on  the  threshold  waiting  for  the 
man  she  loved  despite  his  injustice  and  his  cold 
ness,  looking  past  me  without  a  hint  of  recogni 
tion  in  the  eyes  aglow  with  expectation,  —  then 
first  I  recognized  the  fact  that  I  was  nothing  to 
her,  and  never  could  be.  She  was  seeking  her 
husband,  —  a  husband  she  had  once  loved,  had 
never  forgotten,  and  stood  ready  to  forgive  for 
all  his  harshness  and  suspicion. 

"  Then  I  knew  that  I  had  committed  a  great 
wrong,  and  was  irresistibly  impelled  to  attempt 


YESTERDAY'S   WOE.  2QI 

its  reparation.  I  made  haste  to  tell  her  all  that 
had  occurred.  You  have  heard  the  story, —  how 
I  went  to  her  room,  and  was  with  Hfr  I  know  not 
how  long.  You  have  no  doubt  seen  the  letter 
which  I  brought.  If  I  had  doubted  her  love  for 
her  husband  before,  I  never  did  afterward.  She 
forgot  my  presence  ;  I  was  as  nothing  to  her,  — 
a  servant,  a  creature,  one  from  whom  it  was  un 
necessary  even  to  hide  her  woe. 

"  When  she  had  somewhat  exhausted  her  sur 
prise  and  grief,  not  unmixed  with  anger,  I  told 
her  the  cause  of  the  language  he  had  used.  I 
made  a  clean  breast  of  it,  —  confessed  my  love, 
and  showed  her  how  a  jealous  man  might  have 
been  stung  by  what  he  heard.  She  did  not  re 
gard  me  enough  to  pity  or  even  to  despise  me ; 
her  thought  was  all  of  him,  —  the  one  man 
whom  she  had  ever  loved.  I  can  say  truthfully 
that  I  took  my  punishment  bravely.  I  felt  that 
I  had  deserved  it,  and  did  not  shrink. 

"  Her  agony,  however,  was  more  than  I  could 
bear.  I  remembered  to  have  heard  her  husband 
say  that  he  should  go  westward  on  the  stage  that 
night.  I  proposed  to  return  at  once,  acknowl 
edge  my  fault,  and  bring  him  back  with  me.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  light  that  came  into  her 
eyes  when  I  made  this  offer.  She  was  ready 


BUTTON'S  INN. 


to  pardon  my  offence  if  I  would  perform  this 
penance.  I  believe  she  would  even  have  loved 
me  a  little  afterward  if  I  could  but  have  given 
her  this  great  joy.  It  hurt  me  to  find  myself 
thus  absolutely  ignored,  —  to  think  that  "I  was 
but  as  dust  beneath  her  feet,  while  her  whole 
being  palpitated  with  joy  at  the  thought  of 
meeting  him  who  I  felt  sure  had  done  her 
wrong.  She  gave  me  her  hand  in  thanks.  I 
kissed  it.  I  had  never  dreamed  of  kissing  any 
hand  before  ;  but  I  would  have  kissed  a  shoe 
if  it  had  been  hers. 

"Love  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  the  stranger  — 
who  was  no  longer  a  stranger  —  meditatively. 
"  It  takes  hold  of  all  sorts  of  lives  ;  and  the 
curious  thing  about  it  is  that  it  transforms  them 
all.  Some  it  makes  better,  and  some  it  makes 
worse  ;  but  it  fires,  exalts,  and  intensifies  all 
alike.  Every  one  that  loves  lives  a  romance. 
Love  may  be  set  in  gold  or  in  brass,  be  clad  in 
purple  or  homespun,  but  it  is  the  same  univer 
sal  transforming  influence.  It  may  lead  to  heaven 
or  hell,  but  no  man  is  strong  enough  to  resist  its 
potency.  You  never  saw  the  process  of  making 
steel,  did  you  ?  Just  common  soft  iron  —  rusty 
and  shapeless  and  mean  perhaps  —  is  heated  and 
hammered  and  rolled.  Nothing  else  is  added,  no 


YESTERDAY'S   WOE.  293 

new  ingredient  intermixed.  From  cherry  redness 
to  a  glaring  white,  the  color  wavers  back  and 
forth.  .Now  the  rollers  crush  it,  the  hammers 
mangle  and  bruise,  the  blue  flames  redden  again ; 
and  then  the  shaping  rolls  give  it  form,  and  the 
pure,  keen-tempered  steel  is  formed.  If  the  iron 
was  not  good  at  the  outset,  the  steel  may  be 
worthless  ;  then  it  is  good  for  nothing,  even  as 
iron.  So  it  is  with  love.  It  adds  nothing  to  the 
life  it  touches,  but  brings  out  the  temper.  It 
may  beat  and  crush  and  tear  and  rend  ;  but  if  the 
nature  is  worth  refining,  it  will  '  take  a  temper ' 
or  '  hold  an  edge,'  as  the  workmen  say,  — -  it  will 
be  stronger  afterward  than  it  was  before.  If 
not,  it  will  just  blister  and  scale  and  burn  into 
worthlessness.  I  loved  your  mother.  I  had  no 
right  to  love  her,  and  no  warrant  for  my  pre 
sumption  ;  but  all  there  is  in  my  life  worth  con 
sidering  has  come  from  that  love,  —  even  what  I 
came  here  to  do  is  the  result  of  it.  It 's  been  a 
hard  process  ;  but  I  think  —  I  really  do  think  — 
a  little  keen-edged  steel  has  come  out  of  it.  And 
I  suppose  that 's  the  only  way  such  poor  stuff 
could  have  been  tempered. 

"  As  soon  as  I  had  kissed  her  hand  I  started. 
The  hand  was  soft  and  fair !  Its  touch  added 
delirium  to  my  adoration  !  My  heart  was  full 


2Q4  BUTTON'S  INN. 

of  hate  for  any  one  who  could  cause  pain  to  a 
being  so  divinely  fair.  She  had  read  me  her 
husband's  letter.  I  think  she  did  it  half-uncon- 
scioiisly,  in  that  maze  of  grief,  anger,  and  surprise 
that  followed  its  perusal.  She  had  no  idea  of 
giving  me  her  confidence,  but  her  heart  was  too 
sore  to  hide  its  sorrow.  Every  word  of  it  was 
burned  into  my  brain.  It  was  hard,  cruel,  mean, 
but  heated  white  by  the  fire  of  his  passion.  I 
felt  that.  I  said  in  my  heart,  this  man  loves 
this  woman,  and  yet  tortures  her  as  no  agent  of 
the  Inquisition  ever  dreamed  of  torturing  its  vic 
tims.  I  felt  it  all,  but  did  not  say  it,  —  did  not 
think  it,  in  fact ;  and  it  was  not  till  years  after 
that  I  knew  that  I  had  even  perceived  it  at  all. 

"  I  went  away,  —  her  words,  her  looks,  her 
tones  in  my  heart,  her  tears  feeding  my  hate. 
I  will  conceal  nothing.  I  sought  your  father, 
not  to  do  him  harm,  but  still  less  to  do  him  a 
favor.  I  had  said  I  would  bring  him  back,  and 
I  intended  to  perform  my  promise.  If  he  would 
not  come  otherwise,  I  would  bring  him  by  force. 
If  he  neglected  or  abused  in  any  way  the  love  of 
the  woman  of  whose  meanest  thought  he  was 
unworthy,  he  should  answer  to  me.  I  had  no 
good  wishes  for  him.  'I  went  to  bring  him  be 
cause  it  would  make  her  happy.  I  wanted  him 


YESTERDAY'S  WOE.  2$$ 

to  live  for  her  sake.  I  wished  he  had  never 
lived  ;  but  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  his  death 
could  be  to  my  advantage,  —  not  till  afterward, 
at  least. 

"  When  I  proposed  going  she  had,  after  her 
first  burst  of  gratitude,  objected  because  of  the 
storm.  It  was  a  bad  night,  but  not  so  bad  then 
as  it  grew  toward  morning.  It  was  the  first 
heavy  snow  of  the  season,  and  had  nothing  to 
build  on.  It  fell  straight  down,  thick  and  feath 
ery,  but  still,  upon  the  bare  frozen  ground,  and 
lay  soft  and  cushioning  where  it  fell.  You  know 
what  it  was  like  ? " 

Ozro  nodded  in  the  affirmative,  and  the  other 
went  on. 

"  When  she  spoke  of  the  storm  she  went  to 
the  window  and  peered  out.  I  followed  her, 
seeking  to  remove  an  objection  it  required  little 
argument  to  overcome.  The  air  was  full  of  great 
white  flakes,  falling  straight  downward  except 
for  the  wave-like  motion  which  the  still  air  gave 
to  the  flat  feathery  forms.  They  crossed  and 
recrossed  each  other's  paths,  forming  an  ever- 
moving  curtain  that  hid  all  that  lay  beyond. 
The  light  from  the  window  shone  out  among 
them  as  we  stood  there  side  by  side,  our  shadows 
falling  on  the  feathery  screen.  I  showed  her 


296  BUTTON'S  INN. 

that  the  storm,  though  heavy,  was  not  severe  ; 
it  would  make  the  walking  difficult,  but  that 
was  nothing  for  me. 

"  Five  minutes  afterward  I  was  on  my  way. 
As  I  looked  up  at  the  window  I  saw  her  framed 
in  the  yellowish  glare  that  shone  through  the 
falling  flakes.  While  I  had  been  in  the  room 
you  had  been  very  restless.  Her  excitement,  no 
doubt,  communicated  itself  to  you.  When  I 
looked  back  she  was  holding  you  in  her  arms. 
I  supposed  she  was  showing  you  the  snow.  I 
have  wondered  since  if  she  meant  it  for  a  final 
appeal  to  my  manhood,  —  if  she  wished  me  to 
tell  the  husband  I  sought  of  the  tableau  I  had 
seen  in  the  window. 

"  I  pushed  on  as  fast  as  I  could.  I  wore  a  fur- 
cap  and  a  close-buttoned  roundabout,  or  coatee, 
as  the  garment  was  then  called.  I  did  not  wish 
to  be  encumbered  with  anything  more.  Pretty 
soon  I  began  to  note  fresh  tracks  in  the  snow. 
You  know  the  sort  of  dim  light  that  comes  filter 
ing  down  through  such  a  storm.  I  suspect  that 
the  moon  must  have  been  near  the  full,  but 
I  could  not  see  it.  I  wondered  who  could  be 
abroad  on  such  a  night,  and  on  what  errand  he 
was  bound.  I  knew  this  traveller  was  a  strong 
man,  of  good  stature,  for  the  track  was  straight, 


YESTERDAY'S    WOE.  2Q/ 

and  the  stride  even  greater  than  my  own.  The 
tracks  missed  the  road  sometimes,  but  there 
was  never  any  indecision  about  them  ;  they  went 
always  straight  back  to  the  half-obliterated  track 
the  stage  had  made. 

"  I  soon  knew  by  their  greater  freshness 
that  I  was  gaining  on  the  man  in  front.  He 
did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  great  haste,  while 
I  was  doing  my  best  ;  besides,  I  knew  every 
foot  of  the  way.  At  length  I  came  to  where 
the  old  road  skirts  the  edge  of  the  '  Gulf.* 
The  pines  stood  thick  along  it  then,  and  made 
the  gloom  in  their  shadow  intense.  I  noticed 
that  it  was  so  still  that  the  wind  made  no 
sound  among  their  branches.  The  bank  was 
not  twenty  yards  from  the  track,  and  I  began 
to  fear  that  the  man  ahead  of  me  might  miss  his 
way  and  fall  over  the  precipice.  As  this  fear 
increased,  I  shouted  in  hope  of  attracting  his 
attention.  A  few  pines  and  a  fringe  of  stunted 
hemlocks  grew  along  the  edge.  A  voice  an 
swered  my  shout  almost  at  my  elbow  ;  the 
speaker  could  not  have  been  five  steps  from  the 
edge  of  the  precipice. 

"  '  Hold  on  ! '  I  called  in  terror.  '  My  God, 
man !  you  will  be  over  the  bank !  Don't  stir ! 
stand  where  you  are  until  I  reach  you ! ' 


298  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  started  toward  him.  When  I  had  taken 
a  few  steps  I  halted  and  called  again.  I  thought 
I  had  gone  directly  toward  the  voice,  but  now 
it  was  at  my  left,  and  seemed  about  as  for  away 
as  before.  I  could  see  nothing,  for  the  falling 
snow  hid  everything  three  steps  away.  I  could 
hear  nothing  either,  for  the  snow  muffled  all 
sounds.  I  knew  a  man  was  within  ten  steps 
of  me,  and  yet,  though  there  was  a  dim  murky 
light  just  about  me,  I  felt  as  much  alone  as 
if  in  the  middle  of  the  ocean. 

"  '  Who  is  it  ? '   I  called. 

"  '  Who  are  you  ? '  came  the  response,  in  a 
voice  I  seemed  to  know  but  could  not  recognize. 

"  I  answered,  giving  my  name,  and  started 
toward  him  again.  When  next  I  called  he  was 
on  my  right,  but  nearer,  —  nearer  too  to  the 
edge  of  the  precipice,  I  thought.  It  seemed 
that  he  must  have  moved  in  the  interval.  I 
begged  him  to  stand  still,  and  started  toward 
him  again,  going  carefully,  for  I  found  myself 
by  this  time  among  the  low  hemlocks  which  I 
knew  skirted  the  bank.  I  had  gone  but  a  few 
steps  when  I  felt  myself  seized  from  behind. 
One  word  was  whispered,  —  hissed  into  my  ear, 
and  I  found  myself  borne  toward  the  edge  of  the 
shelving  bank  !  That  one  word  told  me  every- 


YESTERDAY'S   WOE.  299 

thing.  I  saw  my  situation  and  knew  my  an 
tagonist  in  a  flash.  It  was  your  father  !  " 

The  man  laid  aside  his  pipe,  and  bowed  his 
head  submissively  before  the  son  who  sat  an 
arm's  length  away.  For  a  moment  neither 
spoke.  Ozro  could  hear  the  labored  breathing 
of  his  companion  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire 
place.  The  left  hand  on  which  he  leaned,  the 
elbow  resting  on  his  knee,  concealed  his  face. 

"  I  tried  to  explain,  —  to  tell  him  the  truth,"  at 
length  came  brokenly  from  the  lips  of  the  bowed 
figure.  "  There  was  not  much  chance ;  he  would 
not  listen.  He  had  seen  us  at  the  window,  — 
your  mother  and  me.  He  was  a  strong  man, 
taller  than  I  and  older,  but  in  his  prime,  —  forty, 
I  should  say,  or  thereabout.  I  was  a  strong 
man  too,  —  unusually  strong.  In  a  hand-to-hand 
tussle  I  had  then  few  equals  :  but  I  had  never 
encountered  so  desperate  an  antagonist.  I  soon 
realized  my  clanger.  It  was  to  be  a  fight  for  life, 
on  my  part  at  least.  He  sought  only  to  force 
me  over  the  cliff,  without  seeking  to  save  him 
self.  I  do  not  think  he  wished  to  do  so ;  in 
fact,  I  think  he  was  looking  for  the  edge,  in 
tending  to  throw  himself  over,  when  I  called 
to  him.  Instinctively  I  had  caught  a  sapling 
with  my  right  hand  at  the  instant  of  his  attack. 


300  BUTTON'S  INN. 

The  impulse  whirled  me  around,  still  clinging 
to  the  tree,  and  I  felt  the  ground  sloping  toward 
the  edge.  I  threw  myself  down,  and  clung 
for  dear  life  to  the  swaying,  creaking,  slippery 
bush,  —  for  it  was  hardly  more  than  a  bush. 
Fortunately  it  was  a  hemlock,  and  well  rooted. 
It  bent  and  twisted,  but  did  not  give  way.  My 
antagonist  was  on  top  when  we  fell,  and  began 
at  once  to  strive  to  break  my  hold.  His  grasp 
upon  my  wrist  was  like  iron.  I  did  not  believe 
he  could  force  me  to  let  go  ;  but  I  worked  my 
left  hand  up,  and  got  another  grip  on  the  sap 
ling.  I  was  lying  face  down,  he  sitting  astride 
my  loins.  There  was  no  time  to  speak,  and  I 
had  little  breath  to  spare  if  there  had  been.  I 
could  hear  him  curse  me  now  and  then  under 
his  breath.  Working  my  legs  around,  in  order  to 
brace  myself  against  his  efforts,  I  felt  the  trunk 
of  a  tree  standing  on  the  very  edge  of  the  bank. 
The  ground  where  I  lay  sloped  sharply  toward 
it.  Hardly  had  my  foot  touched  it  when  I  real 
ized  what  a  chance  it  offered.  By  great  exer 
tion  I  threw  my  assailant  upward,  and  instantly 
clasped  the  tree  with  my  legs.  I  was  safe  then. 
With  the  bush  held  firmly  in  my  hands,  and  the 
tree  clutched  by  my  knees,  I  knew  that  half-a- 
dozen  men  could  not  pull  me  from  the  spot. 


YESTERDAY'S    WOE.  30 1 

"  Still  he  struggled.  After  a  time  he  seemed  to 
realize  the  hopelessness  of  the  effort.  I  wrenched 
my  head  around  and  tried  to  speak.  His  answer 
was  a  blow.  Then  the  blows  rained  on  the  back 
of  my  head.  I  drew  up  my  shoulders  to  save  the 
nape  of  my  neck,  and  took  them  as  they  came. 
I  have  wondered  since  that  they  did  not  make 
me  insensible,  for  they  were  powerful  blows,  and 
it  was  many  a  day  before  I  recovered  fully  from 
their  effects.  He  evidently  expected  that  result, 
for  presently  he  tried  once  more  to  unloose  my 
hands.  I  was  fast  forgetting  everything  but  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation.  When  he  found 
he  could  not  break  my  grip  I  heard  him  say, 
with  a  curse,  — '  I  '11  see  if  something  won't 
start  you  ! ' 

"  Then  he  loosed  one  hand  from  mine,  and  I 
heard  him  feeling  about  as  if  searching  for  a 
pocket.  Somehow  I  did  not  realize  his  purpose 
until,  twisting  my  head  about  in  the  snow  in 
which  my  face  was  imbedded,  I  saw  him  take  his 
knife  from  his  pocket  and  open  it  with  his  teeth. 
The  act  filled  me  with  that  rage  which  the  use 
of  unfair  means  always  awakens  in  an  imperilled 
man.  From  that  instant  I  was  as  reckless  as 
he.  I  not  only  determined  to  foil  his  design, 
but  to  take  his  life.  Your  mother's  wrongs 


302  BUTTON'S  INN. 

surged  up  in  my  memory,  and  with  the  thought 
a  strange,  wild,  exultant  idea  that  this  man  was 
all  that  stood  between  us.  If  only  he  were  out 
of  the  way,  she  might  be  mine.  I  did  not  know 
where  or  how  he  intended  to  strike  ;  all  I  could 
do  was  to  wait  until  I  discovered  his  aim,  and 
then  avoid  the  blow  if  possible..  Of  course,  I 
did  not  lie  motionless  during  this  time.  I 
heaved  and  wrenched,  but  he  sat  firmly  in  his 
place.  Seeing  his  purpose,  I  tightened  the  grip 
of  my  left  hand,  and  determined  to  cast  loose 
with  my  right  at  the  instant  he  struck,  so  as  to 
divert  his  aim.  I  did  so.  Strange  enough,  he 
struck  at  my  arm.  I  suppose  it  did  not  occur 
to  him  to  kill  me  with  the  knife.  He  had  set 
his  heart  on  taking  me  down  the  bank  with  him, 
and  did  not  think  of  any  other  method  of  obtain 
ing  his  revenge.  He  was  no  murderer, — your 
father  was  not,  —  only  a  man  crazed  with  love 
and  jealousy.  The  movement  to  avoid  his 
stroke  seemed  to  have  been  totally  unexpected 
by  him,  and  for  an  instant  he  sat  unsteadily  in 
his  position.  I  felt  it,  and  half  twisting  myself 
over,  caught  him  by  the  collar.  He  dropped 
his  knife  to  grapple  with  me,  and  again  it  be 
came  a  conflict  of  mere  strength.  He  had  my 
right  hand  in  his  clutch,  and  was  tugging  away 


YESTERDAY'S    WOE.  303 

at  my  left,  which  still  held  the  sapling.  Forcing 
my  right  hand  backward  against  my  shoulder 
blade,  he  easily  held  it  secure.  All  depended 
on  my  left. 

"All  at  once  it  flashed  upon  me  that  I  had 
him  in  my  power.  By  loosing  my  hold  upon 
the  bush  we  should  both  swing  over  the  bank, 
and  he  would  topple  head-foremost  into  the 
gorge  below,  while  I  should  hold  on  by  the  tree 
gripped  between  my  knees.  I  did  not  stop  to 
think  twice.  He  was  twisting  my  right  arm  so 
that  the,  pain  was  intense ;  I  thought  he  would 
tear  it  from  its  socket.  At  the  same  time  he 
was  jerking  with  all  his  strength  at  my  left.  I 
tightened  rny  hold  upon  the  tree  between  my 
legs,  locking  my  feet  securely  around  it.  When 
he  surged  upon  my  hand  again  I  suddenly  let 
go  the  bush.  He  swayed  backward ;  I  felt 
myself  swing  round  as  on  a  pivot.  There  was 
a  struggle, —  a  clutch;  and  then  I  heard  him 
pitch  down  the  slaty  side,  while  I  hung  head- 
downward  over  the  edge  of  the  abyss. 

"  It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  I  regained  the 
bank.  I  lay  there  a  moment  panting  for  breath, 
then  staggered  to  my  feet,  and  began  instinc 
tively  to  look  around  for  my  cap.  I  could  not 
find  it,  and  concluded  it  had  gone  over  the  bank 


304  BUTTON'S  INN. 

with  him.  That  brought  him  to  my  mind,  and 
I  leaned  over  the  edge  and  listened.  I  knew  it 
was  of  no  use ;  the  bank  was  eighty  feet  sheer 
fall,  with  a  rocky  bottom.  I  found  his  hat,  put 
it  on,  and  started  homeward.  Perhaps  I  ought 
to  have  gone  and  looked  for  him.  I  might  per 
haps  have  saved  my  soul  a  double  sin.  I  did 
not  think  of  it  then,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  I  could 
have  found  him  in  the  storm.  I  have  thought 
since  that  the  soft  damp  snow  which  must  have 
been  heaped  against  the  bank,  —  clinging  as  it 
fell,  and  undisturbed  by  any  breath  of  wind,  — 
may  have  formed  a  cushioning  mass  saving  him 
from  instant  death,  but  leaving  him  to  smother, 
stunned  and  helpless,  beneath  its  weight ;  or, 
worse  still,  to  drown  in  the  icy  waters  of  the 
swollen  creek.  I  ought,  no  doubt,  to  have  given 
the  alarm,  and  had  search  made  for  him  as  soon 
as  possible.  It  did  not  once  occur  to  me  to  do 
so.  I  only  hurried  on  with  one  thought  in  my 
mind,  —  the  man  who  stood  between  me  and 
the  woman  I  loved  was  dead  !  It  was  this 
that  made  me  a  murderer,  —  I  left  him  to  die, 
not  merely  careless  whether  he  lived  or  not, 
but  even  glad  that  he  was  dead!" 


FULFILLING   LOVE'S   COMMANDMENT. 


"i 


thought  very  little  of  the  dead  man  behind 
me,  or  of  the  act  that  caused  his  death,  but 
much  of  the  beautiful  woman  to  whom  I  was 
going;  not  with  the  idea  of  possession,  —  that 
hardly  entered  my  mind,  —  but  with  the  thought 
that  I  had  avenged  her  wrongs  and  relieved  her 
of  her  husband's  tyranny  and  suspicion.  She 
might  be  no  nearer  to  me,  but  she  would  not 
belong  to  him,  nor  her  happiness  be  dependent 
on  his  caprice.  This  was  the  thought  that  filled 
my  mind  as  I  plodded  doggedly  homeward.  I 
have  wondered  since  what  made  me  return  at 
all  ;  but  I  was  anxious  that  she  should  know 
how  faithfully  I  had  obeyed  her  wishes,  —  that 
no  fault  of  mine  had  prevented  the  success  of 
my  errand.  Above  all,  I  suppose  I  wished  to 
see  her  once  more.  I  had  not  thought  of  flight, 
but  somehow  felt  that  my  opportunities  for  see 
ing  her  would  not  be  many,  and  was  determined 
to  make  one  more  at  all  hazards. 

"  When  I  arrived  in  sight  of  the  Inn,  it  was 
dark  except  her  window  and  the  light  of  the 


306  BUTTON'S  INN. 

smouldering  fire  in  the  public-room.  How 
should  I  reach  her,  how  speak  with  her,  how 
tell  her  that  she  was  free,  —  for  despite  what  I 
had  seen  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  s.he  would 
consider  it  as  other  than  a  relief.  It  may  seem 
strange  to  you,  but  the  fact  that  I  had  taken 
life  did  not  oppress  me  at  all.  I  neither  pitied 
nor  feared  the  bruised  and  battered  mass  that 
lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine ;  I  was  simply 
glad  that  the  man  was  dead.  I  went  at  once  to 
my  room,  the  one  my  mother  now  occupies.  I 
found  a  bottle  of  rum  and  took  a  drink,  which  I 
sorely  needed.  I  threw  myself  on  my  bed,  and 
wondered  how  I  should  get  speech  with  your 
mother.  I  dared  not  go  through  the  public-room, 
for  I  knew  that  there  were  half-a-dozen  men 
sleeping  by  the  fire.  I  shrank  from  waking  my 
mother,  for  I  would  then  have  to  tell  her  all  that 
had  occurred.  Suddenly  the  idea  of  the  trap 
door  in  the  old  overhang  came  into  my  mind.  I 
knew  that  when  the  house  was  rebuilt  it  had 
been  left  in  place,  though  it  had  long  been  un 
used.  It  was  hung  on  wooden  bar-hinges  set 
into  the  chimney  at  one  end,  and  into  the  house- 
logs  at  the  other.  It  worked  up  and  down 
indifferently,  but  the  ends  had  been  concealed 
by  a  narrow  slat  which  served  as  a  base-board 


FULFILLING  LOVE'S   COMMANDMENT.    307 

in  the  room  above,  being  nailed  to  the  logs  to 
conceal  the  uneven  ends  of  the  flooring  ;  below, 
it  was  supported  by  a  couple  of  braces  nailed 
to  the  wall.  It  ran  the  whole  length  of  the 
closet.  To  remove  these  braces  was  an  easy 
matter.  If  nothing  should  be  standing  upon 
the  trap-door  in  the  room  above,  I  could  easily 
lower  it  without  attracting  attention. 

"  I  did  not  hesitate.  Climbing  on  the  closet 
shelves,  I  loosened  the  braces  and  cautiously 
lowered  the  door.  When  it  swung  down  I  raised 
my  head  and  looked  into  the  room.  The  candle 
was  burning  on  the  stand  by  the  bedside.  Your 
mother  was  lying  beside  you,  with  the  quilt 
loosely  thrown  over  her.  Fearing  that  my  sud 
den  appearance  might  startle  her,  I  rapped 
gently  on  the  floor  and  called  her  name  in  a  low 
voice.  She  waked  with  a  start  and  sat  up  in 
bed,  her  hair  falling  about  her  shoulders,  seem 
ing  dazed  and  confused.  She  had  been  asleep, 
probably  dreaming. 

"  '  What  is  it  ?  Is  it  you,  dear  ? '  she  asked 
in  a  low  eager  tone.  I  could  see  her  face  by 
the  light  of  the  candle  on  the  stand  beside  her. 
Such  a  look  of  sweet  expectancy  I  never  saw 
on  any  human  countenance  before.  Then  first 
I  realized  my  deplorable  condition  ;  I  had  killed, 


308  BUTTON'S  INN. 

not  her  husband  alone,  but  her  love.  I  had  not 
regarded  myself  as  a  murderer,  until  I  thought 
how  she  would  recoil  from  me  when  she  knew 
the  truth.  Her  attention  was  fixed  on  the 
door  that  opened  on  the  stairway.  I  thought 
of  dropping  down  from  my  perch  and  fleeing, 
as  Cain  did  from  the  sight  of  man  ;  but  the 
Lord  willed  it  otherwise.  I  do  not  know  why  I 
remained.  When  her  attention  was  at  last  at 
tracted  to  me  she  came  forward,  throwing  some 
thing  around  her  shoulders  as  she  did  so,  and 
gazed  in  amazement  at  the  long  narrow  trap 
door.  It  must  have  seemed  to  her  like  a  grave. 
She  asked  if  I  had  seen  her  husband.  I  could 
only  bow  my  head  without  looking  up.  I  remem 
ber  thinking  that  I  could  never  look  into  her  eyes 
again." 

He  paused.  The  perspiration  was  streaming 
down  his  face.  He  wiped  it  with  his  handker 
chief,  gazing  steadily  into  the  fire  as  he  did  so. 
His  voice  was  strained  and  tremulous,  and  he 
spoke  with  that  hurried  nasal  cadence  which 
characterized  the  popular  religious  frenzy  of  that 
day.  After  a  moment  he  proceeded. 

"  She  bade  me  come  up  and  relate  what  her 
husband  had  said, — all  that  had  occurred.  I 
swung  myself  into  the  room.  She  stepped  back 


FULFILLING  LOVE'S  COMMANDMENT.    309 

and  waited,  standing  beside  a  chair,  one  hand 
clasping  the  shawl  about  her  throat.  I  stood 
before  her  overwhelmed,  confounded.  Despite 
the  terrible  facts,  I  could  not  but  be  conscious 
of  her  loveliness.  It  was  as  if  an  angel  were 
before  me,  whom  I  worshipped  even  while  I 
waited  for  the  words  of  doom.  She  questioned, 
and  I  told  her  all,  —  truly,  as  it  had  happened. 
Her  trunk  was  open  a  little  way  from  the  chair 
by  which  she  stood,  with  many  of  the  things  it 
usually  contained  piled  at  the  ends.  It  occurred 
to  me  that  she  had  determined  to  leave  as  much 
of  her  belongings  as  she  could,  and  follow  her 
husband  if  I  failed." 

"  That  is  why  she  gave  me  laudanum,"  inter 
rupted  Ozro,  with  a  tone  of  relief.  "  She  would 
have  had  to  leave  me,  and  did  not  want  the  pain 
of  a  conscious  parting." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  the  other,  absently.  "  I 
stood  looking  down  at  the  trunk,"  he  resumed, 
"when  I  heard  a  gasp  —  a  moan.  She  had  said 
nothing,  and  I  had  not  once  looked  up.  When 
I  did  so  she  was  deathly  pale,  —  her  left  hand 
pressed  above  her  heart,  her  face  wearing  a  look 
of  intense  physical  pain  coupled  with  a  strange 
undefinable  fear. 

" '  Go  !  go  ! '  she  said  gaspingly,  motioning  me 


3IO  BUTTON'S  INN. 

away.  Pity,  aversion,  and  fear  were  mingled  in 
her  tone.  She  tottered,  and  I  sprang  forward 
to  save  her  from  falling.  God  !  what  a  look  of 
horror  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  started  back, 
putting  up  both  her  hands  to  repel  me,  un 
conscious  that  the  shawl  had  fallen  from  her 
shoulders.  She  trembled,  gasped  again,  and 
clutched  the  chair.  I  sprang  toward  the  door, 
forgetful  of  everything  but  her  peril. 

" '  Stop  !  stop  ! '  she  fairly  shrieked,  as  my 
hand  touched  the  latch.  '  Have  you  not  done 
enough  ? ' 

" '  But  you  are  ill,'  I  pleaded  ;  '  let  me  call  my 
mother.' 

"  '  And  proclaim  your  presence  here  ? ' 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  this  peril  to  her  good 
name.  She  moaned  and  sank  into  the  chair. 
What  could  I  do,  —  the  husband's  murderer  in 
the  wife's  chamber  ?  Her  eyes  closed,  and  she 
breathed  short  and  quick. 

"  '  Let  me  do  —  something  ! '  I  exclaimed. 

"  She  looked  up  weakly. 

"  '  Go  !  go  !  '  she  said,  '  quick  ! ' 

"'But  you?'  I  asked. 

"'Never  mind  me!  It  is  nothing  —  much! 
I  have  had  it  before  —  once  !  Go  —  fly  !  They 
will  suspect  me  —  and  you — ' 


FULFILLING  LOVE'S  COMMANDMENT.    311 

"  She  shuddered,  and  put  her  hands  over  her 
eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  some  terrible  picture.  It 
gave  me  a  thrill  of  rapture  even  in  my  agony  to 
know  that  she  thought  of  me  at  all.  I  had  made 
no  defence,  no  excuse. 

" '  I  did  the  best  I  could,  Mrs.  Evans,'  I  said. 

"  God  help  me,  I  fear  it  was  a  lie  !  I  thought 
I  spoke  the  truth  ;  but  I  might  have  kept  my 
hold,  and  let  him  kill  me  with  the  knife.  I  ought 
to  have  done  so  ;  it  was  my  place  to  die.  Then 
he  would  have  been  alive,  and  some  time  she 
would  have  found  him  and  been  happy.  But  it 
was  God's  will  that  it  should  be  otherwise.  He 
knoweth  all  things!" 

The  man  stopped,  and  again  wiped  his  face 
with  the  large  silk  handkerchief  which  he  took 
out  of  the  hat  that  lay  beside  him  on  the  floor. 
He  still  held  the  pipe  in  his  left  hand,  though 
he  had  long  ago  ceased  smoking.  He  had  not 
once  looked  at  Ozro  since  telling  him  of  his 
father's  fate.  The  young  man  was  pale  and 
trembling,  but  he  said  pityingly, — 

"  Had  you  not  better  wait  a  while,  sir  ? " 

"No,  no!  it  must  be  told  now!  For  this 
thing  came  I  here  under  God's  mysterious  guid 
ance  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  hurriedly. 

"  I  was  mean  enough,  you  see,"  he  continued, 


312  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  to  think  of  myself  even  then  ;  to  plead  —  O 
God  !  and  she  was  dying !  " 

He  looked  at  Ozro,  —  his  countenance  so 
terribly  distorted  with  horror  and  shame  that 
the  young  man  drew  back  in  affright. 

"  I  don't  blame  you,"  said  the  other,  mistaking 
the  movement  for  aversion,  —  "I  don't  blame 
you.  But  she  did  not  repel  me.  She  was  an 
angel  —  your  mother.  She  stretched  out  her 
hand.  I  touched  it,  and  fell  on  my  knees  —  not 
near  her — away  off:  I  could  hardly  reach  her 
finger-tips. 

"  *  I  believe  you/  she  gasped,  — '  I  believe 
every  word ! ' 

"  Then  she  snatched  her  hand  away  and 
pressed  it  to  her  heart  again. 

"  '  Go  !  go  !  '  she  repeated,  'fly  —  at  once  ! ' 

"  '  Fly  —  where  ? '  I  rose  to  my  feet.  I  sup 
pose  my  tone  showed  my  despair. 

"  '  Anywhere  !  Do  not  come  back  —  ever. 
Nobody  else  will  believe  —  Here  —  take  these  !  ' 

"  She  handed  me  her  jewel-case,  which  lay  on 
a  pile  of  books  by  the  chair.  I  had  risen  and 
started  to  go.  I  looked  at  it,  and  shook  my 
head. 

"  '  Oh,  I  forgot !  Here  —  I  have  money.  My 
purse  —  quick  !  ' 


FULFILLING  LOVE'S  COMMANDMENT.    313 

"  She  pointed  to  her  trunk.  I  seized  it,  dragged 
it  toward  her  and  picked  up  the  pocket-book  — 
a  little  red  one  I  had  often  seen  in  her  hand. 
She  took  it,  touched  the  spring,  and  it  flew 
open.  A  terrible  spasm  of  pain  seized  her. 

" '  Jack  ! '  she  gasped,  '  Jack  !  never  let  it  be 
known  —  that  you  were  —  here  —  never  !  For 
my  sake  ! ' 

"  She  half  started  up  —  trembled,  gasped,  fell 
back,  and  would  have  fallen  from  the  chair  had  I 
not  caught  her.  There  were  two  or  three  con 
vulsive  gasps  —  that  was  all.  I  placed  her  head 
against  the  back  of  the  chair,  rubbed  her  hands, 
called  her  name  —  felt  for  her  pulse.  There  was 
none.  She  was  dead !  I  -did  not  doubt  it. 
Perhaps  even  then  if  I  had  given  the  alarm  she 
might  have  been  saved.  I  did  not  think  it 
possible,  or  I  am  sure  I  would  have  done  it. 
My  only  thought  was  to  save  her  from  shame, 
and  I  remembered  only  her  anxiety  that  I  should 
fly  for  her  sake.  It  was  cowardly,  I  know  ;  but 
• —  well,  there  is  no  excuse.  I  was  overwhelmed 
with  horror.  Snatching  some  of  the  money,  I 
clambered  back  down  the  trap-door,  replaced 
the  braces  as  well  as  I  could,  seized  my  fur-coat 
(a  present  from  my  mother,  made  of  skins  my 
father  had  taken  when  he  was  a  young  man), 


314  BUTTON'S  INN. 

and  putting  on  your  father's  hat  almost  uncon 
sciously,  started  on  my  flight.  God !  how  cruel 
to  leave  her  sitting  there  dead,  that  cold,  cold 
night !  Through  all  its  terrible  hours  I  thought 
of  that !  In  all  the  years  since  I  have  not  been 
able  to  forget  it !  " 

He  rose,  and  staggered  weakly  across  the 
room.  Ozro  again  asked  him  if  he  had  not 
better  delay  the  rest  of  his  story. 

"  No,  no !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  let  me  finish 
now.  Let  me  have  it  over  —  be  done  with  it 
forever !  " 

He  sat  down  and  resumed. 


THE    SHADOW   OF   CRIME. 

"  T  TALF-DAZED,  I  went  out  into  the  storm 
L  L  to  'go  away/  as  she  had  bidden  me. 
That  was  my  sole  thought.  I  did  not  care  for 
myself,  and  had  no  sense  of  fear.  I  felt  that  I 
must  go  in  order  that  I  might  not  reveal  my 
love,  and  so  cast  a  shadow  on  her  good  name. 
It  was  that  which  she  had  feared,  which  her 
husband's  suspicion  had  made  her  dread  worse 
than  death.  I  felt  no  remorse  except  for  the 
evil  I  had  wrought  to  her.  I  would  have  given 
my  life  to  have  restored  her  existence  ;  nay,  I 
would  gladly  have  given  my  life  to  have  restored 
him,  if  thereby  life  and  happiness  might  come 
again  to  her. 

"  I  turned  after  reaching  the  road  and  looked 
up  through  the  blinding  storm  at  the  dimly- 
lighted  windows.  She  seemed  looking  down  at 
me  as  I  had  seen  her  before,  the  abundant  hair 
falling  over  the  fair  shoulder,  down  beside  the 
white  arm  almost  to  the  floor.  I  knew  that  I 
had  killed  her  —  felt  that  I  was  her  murderer. 


3l6  BUTTON'S  INN. 

I  had  not  meant  to  do  her  ill :  never  in  word  or 
thought  had  I  done  her  intentional  harm.  She 
had  not  given  me  a  tender  thought :  I  felt  that 
it  was  a  sacrilege  to  think  of  love  in  connection 
with  her.  But  she  knew  and  had  forgiven  — 
perhaps  she  had  despised  —  my  weakness;  she 
also  had  excused  my  passion  and  recognized  my 
sincerity;  and  she  had  charged  me  to  go  away, 
and  save  her  honor  from  taint  in  the  world's 
thought. 

"  I  was  going.  I  did  not  know  where  or  how, 
—  just  away,  out  of  sight,  out  of  knowledge,  out 
of  the  world  may  be.  But  for  my  tell-tale  body 
that  would  have  been  the  easiest  solution  of  the 
difficulty,  and  being  the  easiest  would  have  been 
adopted.  Were  you  ever  tired,  —  thoroughly 
beaten  out,  I  mean,  —  heart,  brain,  and  body? 
That  was  my  condition,  and  it  is  not  surprising 
if  my  mind  was  not  very  clear.  I  had  tramped 
through  the  storm  to  and  from  where  I  had 
fought  for  my  life  with  a  strong  man ;  I  had 
seen  my  love  burned  to  ashes,  and  the  woman  I 
idolized  die  by  my  act.  No  wonder  my  thought 
was  confused,  and  my  conscience  dead. 

"  Somehow,  I  did  not  think  much  of  the  man 
who  was  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  '  Gulf.'  I 
did  not  look  upon  his  death  as  murder,  nor  had 


THE  SHADOW  OF  CRIME.  317 

I  any  sense  of  blood-guiltiness  as  to  him.  I  had 
done  him  no  wrong,  unless  the  silly  boastfulness 
of  a  hope  which  was  honest  and  natural  enough 
under  the  circumstances  may  be  thought  a 
wrong.  I  hated  him  before  I  saw  him,  —  before 
I  ever  knew  he  was  alive,  —  because  of  his  harsh 
ness  and  injustice  to  her.  I  was  sure  he  had 
been  unjust,  because  she  could  not  be  in  the 
wrong.  I  had  been  willing  to  go  in  search  of 
him  simply  because  she  desired  his  presence,  — 
just  as  I  would  have  gone  for  a  dog,  or  any  brute 
she  loved.  Through  it  all  I  was  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  gratification  that  he  was  dead :  he  could 
make  her  no  more  trouble.  There  was  a  feeling, 
too,  that  he  had  met  his  desert.  So  I  stumbled 
on  through  the  cold  and  the  snow,  leaving  the 
dear  dead  behind  me  and  hating  the  dead  be 
fore  me,  but  with  no  thought  of  fleeing  from 
either  because  of  a  sense  of  guilt. 

"I  was  glad  too  that  he  was  dead  because  she 
loved  him.  Though  I  had  not  meant  to  do  him 
harm,  I  hated  him  not  less  because  she  loved 
him  than  for  the  wrong  he  had  done  to  her. 
For  me,  I  had  only  to  remember  the  look  of 
horror  that  overspread  her  face  when  she  real 
ized  t*at  he  had  died  by  my  hand,  the  self- 
loathing  her  eyes  expressed  as  she  thought  that 


3l8  BUTTON'S  INN. 

we  had  fought  because  of  our  love  for  her ;  and 
then  the  slow,  shrinking  sense  of  loneliness  and 
degradation  that  came  as  she  realized  not  only 
her  widowhood,  but  the  stain  that  would  rest 
upon  her  name  because  of  the  manner  of  her 
bereavement.  This  it  was  her  wish  above  all 
things  to  conceal ;  and  this  I  would  hide  for  her 
sake.  Perhaps  she  knew  this  injunction  would 
be  the  last  her  lips  would  utter.  Death  came 
so  swift  that  she  had  no  time  to  bid  farewell  to 
life.  I  was  glad  it  was  so,  but  the  suddenness 
made  it  all  the  more  piteous.  I  had  no  hope. 
I  knew  what  I  had  done  must  follow  me  all 
the  days  of  my  life,  whether  they  were  many 
or  few,  —  and  I  cared  not  whether  they  should 
be  few  or  many;  I  was  only  anxious  to  shield 
her  memory  by  hiding  myself. 

"  So  I  staggered  on  with  the  remembrance 
of  what  had  happened  whirling  in  my  brain, — 
recollections  terrible  yet  sweet :  the  beautiful 
woman,  her  agony,  her  untimely  fate,  her  piteous 
fear  of  infamy.  I  did  not  know  where  I  was  go 
ing  ;  I  did  not  care.  I  would  just  as  soon  have 
gone  over  the  bank  as  not ;  but  I  knew  if  my 
body  should  be  found  anywhere  near  the  Inn, 
every  one  would  say  I  had  come  back  to  her  after 
killing  her  husband.  I  never  dreamed  that  they 


THE  SHADOW  OF  CRIME.  319 

might  accuse  me  of  killing  and  robbing  her,  but 
always  of  something  a  thousand  times  worse.  If 
they  found  me  near  him  they  would  know  we  had 
fought,  and  of  course  would  think  it  was  about 
her.  I  thought  of  going  to  the  Lake  and  end 
ing  it  all  by  a  plunge  off  the  edge  of  the  ice ; 
but  it  had  not  yet  frozen  very  far  out,  and  the 
wind  was  in  shore,  so  that  my  body  would  have 
been  sure  to  be  found.  I  was  not  afraid  of 
dying,  having  no  feeling  of  guilt  for  any  in 
tended  result  of  my  conduct. 

"  When  I  came  near  where  I  had  met  him,  how 
ever,  all  this  suddenly  changed.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  heavens  opened,  and  I  saw  everything  as  plain 
as  the  Judgment  Day  will  reveal  it.  By  that 
time  there  was  no  track  visible  where  the  road 
was,  but  just  a  smooth  white  mantle  over  all  the 
earth  ;  the  snow  was  still  falling  soft  and  steady, 
as  it  had  done  ever  since  it  grew  dark.  All  at 
once  a  light  shone  through  the  falling  snow 
upon  the  road  before  me, —  and  there  it  stayed, 
going  on  when  I  went  forward,  and  stopping 
when  I  stopped.  And  in  that  light  all  the  time 
I  saw  him.  He  was  pale  and  shadowy,  yet  I 
saw  him  as  plain  as  day.  I  knew  that  he  was 
dead,  —  that  it  was  n't  him  at  all,  or  only  his 
spirit  if  any  part  of  him;  but  I  couldn't  get 


32O  BUTTON'S  INN. 

rid  of  it.  Fast  or  slow,  backward  or  forward, 
one  side  or  the  other,  go  where  I  would,  it  was 
all  the  same,  —  there  he  was,  looking  right  at 
me  and  through  me  all  the  time.  I  knew  at  once 
that  he  had  come  back  to  stay  with  me  wherever 
I  might  go,  and  that  this  was  to  be  my  punish 
ment.  For  the  first  time  it  came  to  my  mind 
that  my  false  and  foolish  boasting  had  made  all 
the  trouble,  and  destroyed  two  lives.  Then  I  saw 
myself  a  murderer,  —  not  an  intended,  revenge 
ful  murderer,  but  a  reckless,  careless,  selfish  one. 
I  had  boasted  of  my  love  and  its  hopes,  and  this 
jealous,  fanatic  nature  had  been  inflamed  by  my 
wrong-doing  to  commit  the  cruel  act  I  had  con 
demned.  He  had  loved,  but  he  could  not  trust ; 
he  could  not  believe  in  her  innocence  and  purity, 
how  then  should  he  believe  my  angry  denial  ? 
He  had  loved,  —  ay,  he  still  loved.  I  saw  it 
now.  He  did  not  seek  me  out  of  revenge.  His 
look  did  not  reproach  me  for  the  wrong  I  had 
done  to  him,  but  for  the  evil  I  had  wrought  to 
her.  It  was  sorrow  rather  than  anger  that  im 
pelled  his  spirit  to  its  vengeful  task. 

"  I  went  on,  guided  by  this  presence,  until  I 
reached  the  place  where  the  old  Portage  crossed 
the  Shore  Road.  The  stage  was  just  coming 
across  the  flat  from  the  village,  —  it  used  to  run 


THE  SHADOW  OF  CRTME.  321 

to  the  harbor  then.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  me 
that  I  had  heard  the  stranger  tell  the  landlord  to 
put  .his  portmanteau  on  the  stage  when  it  came 
along,  if  he  should  not  return,  as  he  might  walk 
on  until  it  overtook  him.  It  had  evidently  been 
his  intention  to  come  out  here,  take  a  look  at 
the  place  where  the  woman  he  loved  was  stay 
ing,  and  then  return  and  take  the  stage  west 
ward.  I  had  on  his  hat  and  my  own  fur-coat. 
Why  should  I  not  take  his  place  ?  I  thought  I 
could  see  satisfaction  in  the  white  ghostly  face 
that  shone  upon  the  snow  before  me  as  I  formed 
this  resolution.  I  turned  and  walked  on  west 
ward.  After  an  hour  or  so  the  stage  overtook 
me.  As  the  light  of  the  lamps  fell  on  me,  the 
driver  called  out :  '  Hello,  is  that  Mr.  Evans  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  answered.  '  Have  you  got  my  port 
manteau?' 

" '  Safe  enough ;  but  I  began  to  fear  I  was 
going  to  miss  you.' 

" '  Oh,  I  'm  all  right.  I  knew  you  would  have 
a  hard  time,  and  thought  I  would  walk  on  ahead 
a  little  way.  Are  you  full  ? ' 

" '  No  —  only  two ;  pile  in.' 

"  He  stopped  beside  me.  I  opened  the  door 
and  climbed  in.  Fortunately  it  was  a  driver  I 
had  never  seen.  On  the  fifth  day  afterward 


322  BUTTON'S  INN. 

1  Jackson  Evans '  got  out  of  the  stage  in  Cincin 
nati,  and  two  days  later  was  floating  down  the 
Ohio  on  a  flat-boat.  There  was  an  address  on 
the  portmanteau  I  had  assumed  the  ownership 
of,  but  I  did  not  know  whether  it  was  the  right 
one  or  not.  So  I  broke  it  open :  learned  from 
papers  in  it  the  address  of  your  father's  bankers  ; 
took  it  to  a  bank,  and  paid  them  to  transmit  it  to 
New  York.  This  took  the  last  money  I  had,  and 
I  hired  out  as  a  boatman.  It  was  late  in  the 
season,  but  the  river  was  still  open,  and  there 
was  one  captain  who  was  going  to  risk  getting 
through.  He  wanted  hands,  and  I  went  with 
him.  On  that  day  Jackson  Evans  disappeared, 
and  Abner  Jackson  took  his  place.  Two  years 
afterward  this  change  of  name  was  legalized  by 
special  statute.  Mississippi  was  a  new  State 
then,  and  it  was  thought  good  policy  to  make 
things  of  that  sort  easy  to  new-comers.  Poin- 
dexter,  the  governor,  took  a  fancy  to  me,  — 
having  an  interest  in  the  boat  I  was  running 
then,  —  and  when  I  hinted  that  the  name  was  an 
assumed  one,  he  volunteered  to  have  it  legalized, 
and  did  so. 

"  Up  to  this  time  the  dead  man  had  been  with 
me  all  the  while.  I  saw  him  now  and  then  after 
I  went  on  the  boat,  but  not  regularly.  Before 


THE  SHADOW  OF  CRIME.  323 

we  got  to  Orleans  I  was  taken  with  fever,  and 
when  I  recovered  I  knew  he  was  always  with  me  ; 
but.  I  did  not  actually  see  him  except  at  long 
intervals.  When  I  came  to  look  in  a  glass  after 
my  recovery,  I  found  that  a  lock  of  my  hair  had 
turned  as  white  as  snow.  I  knew  then  it  was 
the  mark  of  Cain.  After  that  I  wore  my  hat  at 
all  times.  I  don't  mind  the  mark  now,  but  the 
habit  has  become  fixed,  so  that  I  feel  uncomfort 
able  in  the  presence  of  others  unless  covered. 

"Strange  enough,  the  Lord  prospered  me. 
Perhaps  it  was  because'  I  attended  to  what  was 
placed  in  my  hands,  and  had  no  inclination  to 
dissolute  society.  I  liked  always  to  be  engaged, 
but  did  not  care  to  be  alone,  —  in  fact,  I  did  not 
feel  myself  alone  at  any  time.  As  I  had  lost  all 
hope,  so  I  had  lost  all  fear.  I  did  not  care 
whether  I  lived  or  died.  I  was  not  a  religious 
man,  and  had  no  inclination  toward  repentance 
nor  any  fear  of  punishment.  I  felt  like  one 
serving  out  a  penalty  he  knows  to  be  just,  inevi 
table,  and  eternal.  I  knew  that  this  life  of  suffer 
ing  could  only  be  exchanged  for  another  just  as 
bad  :  I  did  not  think  it  could  be  any  worse.  So 
I  went  on  doing  faithfully  what  came  in  my  way. 

"  The  mark  of  Cam  helped  me.  The  fact  that 
I  never  removed  my  hat  in  the  presence  of  any 


324  BUTTON'S  INN. 

one  attracted  attention  ;  and  I  suppose  the  habit 
ual  seriousness  which  was  the  result  of  the  con 
sciousness  of  ghostly  company  gave  me  a  gravity 
and  earnestness  somewhat  unusual  among  the 
boatmen  on  the  river.  At  all  events,  I  soon 
found  myself  in  command  of  a  boat,  —  then  of  a 
better  one,  until  the  name  of  Abner  Jackson  is 
about  as  well  known  up  and  down  the  river  as 
that  of  any  man  that  ever  had  charge  of  a  load 
of  passengers  or  signed  a  bill  of  lading. 

"  The  life  suited  me.  I  had  no  interests  out 
side  of  it,  and  nothing  to  hope  for  beyond  it.  So 
I  ran  my  boat,  took  care  of  my  passengers,  and 
made  money  for  my  owners.  Nobody  trifled 
with  me,  and  everybody  felt  safe  in  my  care. 
When  I  first  took  command,  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  curiosity  expressed  because  I  wore  my 
hat  all  the  time.  On  one  of  my  first  trips  the 
passengers  protested  against  my  wearing  it  at 
the  table,  and  one  remarked  that  to  do  so  was  an 
insult  to  the  ladies.  I  asked  the  ladies  to  excuse 
us,  and  invited  him  to  accompany  me  on  deck. 
He  apologized  —  after  we  had  exchanged  shots. 
His  wound  was  serious,  but  before  we  reached 
New  Orleans  he  was  out  of  danger.  Soon  after 
ward  a  gambler  came  on  board  at  Natchez- 
under-the-Hill,  and  deliberately  pulled  off  my 


THE  SHADOW  OF  CRIME.  $2$ 

hat  in  presence  of  the  passengers  and  crew.  I 
shot  him  where  he  stood,  put  on  my  hat  and 
went  about  my  business.  Some  other  experien 
ces  with  the  desperadoes  who  infested  the  river 
gave  me  a  reputation  for  coolness  and  determi 
nation  that  was  of  great  advantage.  After  a 
time  I  became  myself  a  part  owner  of  the  boat 
I  commanded.  I  also  bought  a  plantation  and 
negroes,  and  engaged  in  trade.  Whatever  I 
did  prospered.  I  took  no  special  pride  in  this, 
though  of  course  it  was  a  sort  of  satisfaction. 
I  did  not  know  what  I  should  do  with  my  acqui 
sitions,  or  who  would  profit  by  them. 

"  No  one  ever  recognized  me  in  all  the  time  I 
followed  the  river,  though  I  saw  more  than  one 
familiar  face.  Among  these  was  my  mother's 
cousin,  Sidney  Rigdon.  He  had  stayed  some 
weeks  at  the  Inn  during  the  fall  before  I  went 
away.  Afterward  he  had  become  one  of  the 
leading  men  among  a  new  religious  sect,  at  that 
time  much  talked  about  because  of  the  peculiar 
name  that  was  applied  to  them.  They  were 
called  Mormons,  though  I  learned  from  him  that 
their  real  name  was  '  The  Church  of  Jesus  Christ 
of  Latter-day  Saints.'  I  managed  to  see  a  good 
deal  of  him  without  letting  him  suspect  who  I 
was.  He  seemed  very  much  in  earnest,  led  an 


326  BUTTON'S  INN. 

exemplary  life,  and  judging  from  him  I  formed 
a  very  good  opinion  of  the  strange  people  with 
whom  he  had  cast  in  his  lot.  From  him  I 
learned  how  matters  were  going  on  here  at  the 
Inn.  I  could  not  understand  all  that  he  told 
me :  since  I  came  here  it  has  been  made  plain. 
A  year  or  so  after  this  I  sent  some  money  to 
my  mother,  —  a  hundred  dollars  ;  and  after  that, 
some  every  year.  If  she  ever  received  it,  I  do 
not  suppose  she  knew  from  whom  it  came." 

"  I  think  she  suspected/5  said  Ozro,  thought 
fully. 

"After  that  I  used  to  see  more  of  the  spirit. 
Sometimes  it  would  be  with  me  almost  all  the 
while  for  a  trip  or  two;  then  it  would  not  ap 
pear  for  months.  Sometimes  it  would  not  be 
visible,  but  I  would  know  it  was  with  me  all  the 
same.  I  did  not  understand  what  it  wanted  nor 
why  it  came  so  often,  and  so  kept  right  on  with 
my  business.  Of  course  I  used  to  think  of  mat 
ters  up  here  at  the  Inn  a  good  deal,  and  some 
times  would  quite  make  up  my  mind  to  come 
and  see  how  things  were  getting  on.  Then  the 
spirit  would  go  away  and  leave  me. 

"I  didn't  want  to  come;  but  I  soon  knew 
I  'd  have  to.  Nobody  can  guess  how  wearing  it 
is  to  have  somebody  else  around  with  you  all 


THE-  SHADOW  OF  CRIME.  327 

the  while,  and  feel  that  he  sees  and  knows  all 
that  you  see  and  know  and  feel  and  think. 
That 's  the  way  it  was  with  me.  Ever  since 
the  night  I  met  the  murdered  man's  spirit  down 
by  the  '  Gulf/  I  had  n't  ever  been  fairly  alone. 
Sometimes  I  'most  forgot  him,  but  if  I  did  he 
was  sure  to  jog  my  elbow  in  some  way  or  other, 
just  to  let  me  know  he  was  there,  I  suppose.  I 
knew  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  get  away 
from  him,  and  so  never  made  the  attempt;  but  I 
was  very  glad  when  he  left  me  to  myself  now 
and  then.  It  was  strange  how  he  would  come 
sometimes  when  I  was  least  expecting  him.  I 
have  had  that  face  come  between  me  and  one 
I  was  speaking  to,  between  my  eye  and  the  page 
of  a  book  I  was  reading,  between  me  and  a  bill 
of  lading  I  was  putting  my  hand  to.  I  never 
knew  when  or  where  or  in  what  mood  it  would 
appear.  Sometimes  it  looked  angry  and  troubled, 
sometimes  sad  ;  and  then  again  calm  and  pitiful, 
as  if  regretting  the  task  it  had  to  perform.  If 
I  became  angry  or  contemplated  injustice,  it  was 
sure  to  look  reproachful  or  distressed.  If  I 
chanced  to  take  pleasure  in  the  society  of  a 
woman,  it  became  flushed  and  angry,  and  would 
pursue  me  everywhere. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  was  afraid  of  it.     I  grew 


328  BUTTON'S,  INN. ' 

to  know  its  moods  and  expect  its  presence ;  but 
it  was  very  annoying  in  its  more  excited  forms, 
and  would  follow  me  about  persistently  until  I 
changed  my  conduct  or  intention.  I  tried  once 
or  twice  to  drown  it  in  drink,  but  my  sufferings 
were  only  made  greater  thereby.  My  uncon 
scious  moments  were  filled  with  horrible  visions, 
and  in  my  waking  hours  the  spirit  pursued  me 
unceasingly.  This  companion,  invisible- to  others, 
served  to  make  me  silent  and  reserved  without 
becoming  at  all  moody  or  sulky.  After  a  time 
I  found  I  could  converse  with  it,  —  not  indeed 
getting  specific  replies  to  questions  I  might  ask, 
but  seeming  to  know  just  what  it  would  say  if 
speech  were  in  its  power." 

"  Don't  you  think  this  may  have  been  a  delu 
sion  ? "  asked  Ozro,  cautiously. 

"  Do  I  seem  a  man  likely  to  be  self-deceived  ? " 
asked  Jackson,  severely. 

In  truth  he  did  not.  Ozro  wondered  what  his 
associates  on  the  river  would  have  thought  if 
they  had  known  what  visions  the  captain  of  the 
popular  steamer  had. 

"  No,"  continued  Jackson,  "  I  do  not  pretend 
to  know  just  what  this  ghostly  appearance  was. 
Whether  it  was  the  '  spiritual  body'  of  which  the 
Apostle  speaks,  or  only  a  spiritual  influence  that 


THE  SHADOW  OF  CRIME.  329 

shaped  itself  to  my  consciousness  in  that  form, 
I  do  not  know.  But  the  thing  I  do  know  is,  it 
was  of  God/' 

He  raised  his  eyes  reverently  as  he  uttered 
these  words. 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt!"  said  Ozro,  seriously. 

"  Yes,  it  was  of  God,"  repeated  Jackson  ;  "  and 
in  this  way  I  have  learned  a  good  deal  about 
your  father,  Ozro ;  and  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
we  have  become  the  best  of  friends.  He  was  a 
good  man,  though  of  course  he  had  his  faults.  I 
think  the  task  of  keeping  around  with  me  was  as 
great  a  penance  to  him  as  it  was  to  me  for  a  time, 
but  he  came  at  length  to  enjoy  it  too.  He  must 
have  been  a  very  good  business  man  in  his  day, 
for  nothing  pleases  him  so  well  even  yet  as  to 
have  me  do  a  good  thing  in  that  line  ;  and  if  ever 
I  go  against  his  warning,  I  am  sure  to  lose. 
That  is  why  I  took  to  your  machines  so  quick. 
He  was  betwixt  me  and  them  all  the  time, — 
especially  the  little  one.  I  did  n't  understand 
that,  till  Dewstowe  brought  those  other  pins. 
It 's  natural  of  course  that  he  should  be  anxious 
about  your  welfare,  but  I  am  satisfied  that  he 
feels  a  special  interest  in  your  temporal  good. 
For  this  reason  I  am  sure  you  will  be  fortunate 
in  business." 


33O  BUTTON'S  INN. 

Ozro  smiled,  but  the  other  was  too  busy  with 
his  thoughts  to  note  even  the  shrug  of  incredu 
lity  that  accompanied  the  smile. 

"  Strange  as  it  may  seem,"  he  continued,  "  I 
think  the  fact  that  we  were  partners,  as  it  were, 
in  the  wrong  that  was  done  your  mother,  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  our  association,  —  if  I  may  use 
that  word  to  express  such  a  relation.  Of  course 
I  know  nothing  of  the  laws  of  that  world  of 
which  he  is  now  a  part ;  I  only  know  that  he 
has  the  power  of  making  himself  visible  to  me 
when  he  is  not  visible  to  others.  I  am  satisfied 
that  he  is  not  only  able  to  read  my  thoughts, 
but  that  he  cannot  help  knowing  them.  I  have 
a  notion  that  this  is  very  often  quite  as  irksome 
to  him  as  it  is  to  me,  —  perhaps  even  more  so  ; 
that  my  pain,  unhappiness,  or  misfortune  affects 
him  not  less  sensibly  than  it  does  me ;  that  this 
is  due,  or  was  at  first  at  least,  not  so  much  to 
sympathy,  as  to  a  sort  of  fate,  —  a  certain  com 
munity  of  woe  from  which  neither  of  us  can 
escape. 

"  Like  me,  his  crime  has  forever  separated  him 
from  your  mother  and  her  love.  She  went  out 
of  the  world,  not  hating  him  nor  me,  —  for  she 
could  not  hate  any  one,  —  but  with  a  sickening 
disgust,  which  eternity  will  not  be  long  enough 


THE  SHADOW  OF  CRIME.  331 

to  wear  away,  toward  both  of  us.  That  is  our 
punishment,  I  feel  sure.  Where  she  is  we  can 
not  come.  She  started  in  the  eternal  race 
millions  of'  years  ahead  of  us.  If  we  get  to 
where  she  was  then,  we  shall  only  find  her  far 
beyond.  That  is  my  belief.  You  may  think  me 
a  visionary,  but  my  life  proves  me  to  be  anything 
but  that.  No  one  can  deny  that  Abner  Jackson 
has  been  a  sober,  hard-headed,  practical  man, 
who  has  prospered  in  most  of  his  undertakings, 
and  made  as  few  mistakes  in  fifteen  years  as 
often  falls  to  a  man's  lot  who  does  anything 
like  the  amount  of  business  I  have  transacted. 
If  I  have  learned  something  of  the  world  be 
yond,  it  is  because  fate  has  laid  a  burden  on  me 
that  not  many  men  are  called  to  bear.  I  know 
that  I  shall  be  forgiven,  —  I  haven't  any  doubt 
or  fear  of  that.  Not  only  have  I  the  assurance 
of  the  spirit,  but  the  Lord  has  spoken  to  me  by 
the  mouth  of  His  Holy  Prophet,  and  I  know  that 
I  shall  be  saved  ;  nay,  I  am  assured  that  I  shall 
be  saved  '  with  an  exceeding  great  salvation.' 
But  the  stain  of  blood-guiltiness  rests  upon  my 
soul,  —  upon  mine  and  his,  —  and  must  ever  rest 
there,  unless  washed  out  by  special  atonement. 
This  separates  us  forever  by  divine  decree  from 
the  victim  of  our  sin.  This  it  is  that  links  your 


332  BUTTON'S  INN. 

father  and  me  together,  —  the  tie  of  endless 
expiation.  Not  alone  here  on  earth,  but  during 
the  endless  ages  of  eternity  shall  we  be  united. 
Forever  and  forever  we  shall  walk  the  plains 
of  heaven  together,  doing  the  will  of  the  Al 
mighty  and  bowing  to  it  without  murmuring,  — 
never  seeing  her  whom  we  wronged,  nor  know 
ing  the  new  name  she  has  received  in  the  ce 
lestial  City,  but  never  ceasing  to  think  of  her 
and  ever  longing  to  see  her  face.  I  am  not  a 
visionary,  Ozro,  but  the  Lord  has  taught  me 
by  a  hard  lesson  and  in  a  strange  and  notable 
way.  I  am  not  even  a  religious  enthusiast.  My 
tongue  refuses  to  utter  the  ecstatic  praises  that 
fall  from  other  lips.  I  can  only  do  the  will  of 
God.  in  silence,  —  '  faithful  in  a  few  things.' 

"  About  two  years  ago,  I  finally  determined  to 
come  back  and  see  for  myself  how  things  were 
going  on  at  the  Inn.  I  knew  you  must  be  a  man 
grown  by  this  time,  and  I  thought  I  might  be 
able  to  do  something  to  help  repair  the  wrong 
I  had  done  so  long  ago.  I  could  n't  make  good 
your  loss  even  in  a  pecuniary  sense,  for  your 
father  would  have  been  a  rich  man  if  he  had 
lived,  Ozro,  —  a  rich  man.  I  take  it  he  was 
pretty  well  off  as  it  was  ;  but  he  would  have 
stood  away  up  among  the  biggest  of  them  if  he 


THE  SHADOW  OF  CRIME.  333 

had  lived,  for  he  was  a  business  man  and  no 
mistake.  I  think  you  must  be  like  him,  by  the 
way  you've  held  things  together  here  at  the 
Inn.  Mother  tells  me  you  've  had  your  own 
way  for  five  or  six  years,  and  have  managed  to 
keep  the  place  going  and  kept  the  interest  on 
the  mortgage  down  besides.  I  don't  see  how 
you  did  it,  I  confess  ;  but  then  Dotty  has  been 
some  help  toward  the  last,  I  suppose.  Ma  al 
ways  was  a  manager;  but  Pa  must  have  been 
a  drag.  He  seems  to  be  all  broke  up.  I  can't 
understand  it.  Ma  used  to  be  very  fond  of 
him,  and  there  never  was  any  difference  be 
tween  them,  except  about  me.  He  seems  to 
lay  their  estrangement  all  to  you  ;  but  I  sup 
pose  it  was  the  drink.  Yet  it  don't  seem  to  me 
he  would  have  gone  so  completely  to  the  bad 
if  she  had  n't  been  so  hard  on  him.  That 's 
neither  here  nor  there,  though,  now. 

"  I  did  n't  know  what  sort  of  a  chap  you  'd 
grown  up,  and  so  could  n't  tell,  of  course,  what 
might  be  done.  I  had  a  notion  I  might  get  you 
a  job  on  the  river,  —  I  'm  owner  of  as  good  a 
boat  as  floats,  you  see,  —  an'  I  did  n't  know  but 
you  might  like  to  go  back  with  me  and  work  her 
a  while  before  taking  command  on  your  own 
account.  Your  father  never  seemed  to  like  the 


334  BUTTON'S  INN. 

idea,  and  I  see  now  it  would  n't  do  at  all.  You 
ain't  that  sort  of  a  chap :  not  but  you  could  do 
it  well  enough  if  there  was  need  to ;  but  there 
ain't  no  need  of  it,  and  besides  your  fitter  for 
something  else,  —  there  ain't  no  denying  that. 
Perhaps  it 's  better  too.  Not  but  what  the  com 
mand  of  a  river  boat  is  a  good  berth :  it 's  an 
honorable  place  and  a  responsible  one,  that  re 
quires  a  sober  man  and  a  brave  one  to  fill  it  as 
it  ought  to  be  filled.  You'd  do  it  well.  I  saw 
that  when  you  gripped  that  dog  the  first  night  I 
came  to  the  Inn ;  but  perhaps  you  can  do  other 
things  better,  and  every  man  ought  to  do  what 
he  can  do  best,  —  there  's  no  doubt  about  that. 
Well,  I  shan't  ever  go  back  to  the  river  again. 
So  it 's  no  use  to  talk  of  that." 


IN    THE    NEW    JERUSALEM. 

"  T  DID  not  feel  any  serious  apprehension  in 
-*-  revisiting  my  old  home,  though  I  knew 
that  the  act  which  attended  my  departure  must 
be  regarded  by  others  as  the  foulest  of  crimes. 
I  was  well  aware  that  no  one  would  believe 
the  story  I  have  told  you  of  my  encounter  with 
your  father.  I  had  learned  that  a  body  was 
found  which,  though  not  conclusively  identified, 
was  suspected  to  have  been  his  ;  but  I  never 
heard  that  there  was  any  suspicion  that  he  came 
to  his  death  by  my  hand.  As  no  one  knew  of 
his  coming  to  the  Inn  except  myself,  this  no 
tion  was  not  likely  to  prevail ;  besides,  the  stage- 
driver  had  asserted  stoutly  that  he  took  your 
father  safe  and  sound  as  far  as  Erie  at  least.  I 
knew  too  that  time  had  made  great  changes  in 
my  appearance,  and  thought  it  not  unlikely  that 
I  could  spend  months  here,  as  I  have  done, 
without  my  identity  being  suspected. 

"  I  closed  up  my  business  as  well  as  I  could, 
however,  thinking  it  possible  I  might  never  re 
turn.  When  I  reached  Cleveland,  I  became 


336  BUTTON'S  INN. 

possessed  of  a  strange  disinclination  to  coming 
farther.  For  the  first  time  I  think  I  felt  actually 
afraid.  I  was  afraid  to  come  near  the  old  place, 
—  afraid  to  meet  my  parents  and  the  neighbors. 
My  father  I  knew  mourned  me  as  dead  ;  my 
mother  —  well,  I  was  afraid  to  meet  her  eye.  If 
I  had  known  what  she  really  thought,  I  would 
have  returned  long  before  merely  to  clear  my 
name  from  the  suspicion  of  theft.  What  do  you 
suppose  became  of  the  diamonds  ?  I  have  seen 
diamonds  since,  and  know  that  is  what  they 
were." 

Jackson  turned  sharply  toward  Ozro  as  he 
spoke. 

"  You  had  better  ask  Dotty." 

"  Dotty  ?    What  does  she  know  about  them  ? " 

"  Your  mother  hid  them,  and  forgot  the  place 
of  their  concealment ;  that  is  all." 

"  Ah,  and  Dotty  found  them  ?  " 

"  I  found  them,  —  or  rather  the  ghost  showed 
them  to  me." 

"  You  mean  —  my  mother  ?  " 

Ozro  bowed. 

"  Poor  mother,  how  she  has  suffered  ! "  said 
Jackson,  with  a  sigh.  "  But  that  does  not  explain 
Dotty's  connection  with  the  jewels." 

"  I  gave  them  to  her." 


JJV  THE  NEW  JERUSALEM.  337 

"You  did!  Do  you  know  what  they  are 
worth  ? " 

"  No  —  it  does  n't  matter." 

"  Not  if  she  marries  Dewstowe  ?  " 

«  No,"  decidedly. 

"  That 's  not  like  your  father,  sir,"  said  Jack 
son,  reproachfully.  "  Or  rather,"  he  added  in  a 
softer  tone,  "  it  is  like  your  mother.  There  are 
not  many  men  who  give  without  taking  note  of 
the  value  of  the  gift." 

"  I  wish  it  were  more,"  huskily, 

" '  Even  all  that  he  hath,'  responded  Jackson, 
meditatively. 

"Why  not,"  said  Ozro,  passionately,  "if  it  will 
give  her  pleasure  ?  " 

"  Strange,  strange  ! "  said  the  elder  man  half 
to  himself ;  "  there  is  a  love  that  gives  by  rule 
and  measure,  and  demands  a  strict  account ; 
and  another  that  gives  without  asking,  and  de 
mands  nothing  in  return.  Yes,  you  are  right. 
Though  love  may  be  sometimes  cruel,  that  which 
esteems  another's  happiness  above  self  is  not 
likely  to  go  far  wrong.  But  don't  be  rash,  my 
son,  —  don't  be  rash.  Time  brings  a  good  many 
things  to  a  man  who  has  nerve  enough  to  wait 
for  them. 

"But  to  return  to  my  story,"  he  continued, 


338  BUTTON'S  INN. 

seeing  that  Ozro  sat  moodily  looking  into  the  fire 
and  made  no  reply.  "  As  I  said,  a  great  fear  took 
hold  upon  me  at  Cleveland.  It  seemed  to  possess 
your  father,  too.  Every  time  I  thought  of  con 
tinuing  my  journey,  he  would  appear  to  me  with 
that  distressed  and  anxious  look  I  had  learned  to 
know  so  well  as  the  precursor  of  evil,  and  flit  about 
before  my  eyes,  hiding  everything  I  looked  at. 
So  I  stayed  there  several  weeks,  doubtful  whether 
I  would  continue  my  journey  or  not. 

'  About  this  time  there  was  a  good  deal  be 
ing  said  concerning  a  great  Temple  the  Saints  — 
the  Mormons  as  you  call  them  —  had  opened 
at  the  town  of  Kirtland,  some  forty  miles  away, 
where  the  New  Jerusalem  of  the  Latter  Day  is 
located,  whence  the  Prophet  hath  declared  '  sal 
vation  shall  flow  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth.'  There  was  much  curiosity  about  this 
Temple,  which  was  said  to  have  double  pulpits, 
great  winding  stairs,  veils  of  colored  silk  that 
stretched  from  side  to  side,  so  rich  that  the  light 
was  mellowed  by  their  hues,  and  of  so  frail  a 
texture  that  when  the  congregation  were  hushed 
in  prayer  they  sometimes  showed  the  waving  of 
Moroni's  wings,  as  he  came  to  whisper  in  the 
Prophet's  ear  the  commandment  of  the  Most 
High.  Curiosity  was  stimulated  also  by  the  fact 


IN   THE  NEW  JERUSALEM.  339 

that  this  Temple  was  proclaimed  to  have  been 
built  under  the  direct  advisement  and  oversight 
of  the  Almighty.  Indeed,  it  was  known  to  have 
been  erected  by  the  people  themselves,  few  of 
whom  had  any  special  mechanical  training,  under 
the  immediate  supervision  of  the  Prophet,  who  be 
sides  having  no  architectural  knowledge  is  with 
out  skill  as  a  draughtsman,  and  indeed  is  but  an 
indifferent  penman.  He  gave  orders  day  by  day 
what  the  workmen  should  do,  without  the  aid  of 
any  plan  or  trestle-board.  Sometimes  he  grew 
impatient  and  would  not  wait  for  inspiration,  and 
then  the  work  would  have  to  be  taken  down  and 
done  over  again,  —  for  the  Prophet,  though  he  is 
the  Lord's  Anointed,  is  exceedingly  weak,  and 
fleshly  pride  not  seldom  checks  the  holy  influence 
upon  his  human  nature.-  Sometimes,  the  breth 
ren  tell  me,  there  would  be  nothing  done  for 
weeks,  or  if  anything  were  attempted  it  would 
have  to  be  torn  down  and  done  over,  because  the 
Most  High  was  angry  at  the  Prophet's  pride. 
Then  the  congregation  would  be  assembled  and 
continue  in  prayer  until  the  rush  of  Moroni's 
pinions  was  felt,  and  they  knew  that  God  and 
their  Prophet  were  reconciled. 

"  This  building,  thus  divinely  planned  —  like 
the  one  constructed  on  Mount  Zion  —  was  said  to 


340  BUTTON'S  INN; 

be  unlike  anything  ever  seen  on  earth,  and  in  the 
apparent  richness  of  its  adornment  and  splendor 
of  its  effects  unparalleled  by  anything  known  in 
our  Western  world  since  the  children  of  Nephi 
builded  the  Temple  of  Mexitli,  which  the  un 
believers  seized  and  desecrated  to  the  service  of 
idols,  and  stained  with  human  blood.  It  was  be 
cause  of  this  ravishment  of  the  ancient  Temple 
by  the  wicked  and  debauched  among  the  priest 
hood  that  the  new  one  had  no  secret  passages  or 
covered  ways  Only  silken  curtains  of  royal 
purple  half  hid  the  high-priest  as  he  ascended 
by  the  winding  stair  to  the  Prophet's  seat,  and 
the  veil  that  hid  the  Holy  of  Holies  where  he 
retired  alone  to  commune  with  the  Most  High 
through  His  chosen  messenger  the  blessed  Mo 
roni,  transformed  into  an  angel  of  light  for  his 
faithfulness  at  the  Hill  of  Cumnorah,  whereby  the 
Holy  Book  of  the  Western  Continent  —  the  New 
Word  which  supplements  the  ancient  revelation 
—  was  preserved  for  our  salvation.  There  is  a 
curious  cave  or  deep  narrow  gorge  near  the  site 
of  the  Temple,  and  unbelievers  said  there  was 
a  secret  way  between  this  and  the  Holy  Place 
whereby  the  Prophet's  disappearances  were  deftly 
managed  to  deceive  the  uninitiated.  But  though 
the  cave  was  open  to  all,  and  was  thronged  every 


IN  THE  NEW  JERUSALEM.  341 

day  by  curious  visitors  who  inspected  with  the 
utmost  minuteness  every  inch  of  its  interior,  no 
one  has  ever  found  the  hidden  way  nor  any  evi 
dence  of  its  existence.  These  and  many  other 
marvellous  and  sometimes  absurd  stories  came 
to  my  ears,  and  I  began  to  lose  the  good  opinion 
of  this  people  which  I  had  received  from  Rigdon ; 
but  as  the  Temple  was  open  to  unbelievers  only 
on  holy  days  and  public  occasions,  I  readily  fell 
in  with  the  proposal  of  a  traveller  who  was  stop 
ping  at  the  same  inn  with  me,  that  we  should 
drive  out  and  stay  over  a  Sabbath  at  the  New 
Jerusalem. 

"As  we  journeyed  thither,  our  conversation 
was  that  of  unbelievers.  Neither  of  us  had  any 
faith  in  the  new  sect,  and  both  expected  to  be 
able  to  penetrate  and  expose  the  deceptions 
practised  on  its  weak  and  deluded  followers. 
As  we  drew  near,  we  were  surprised  at  the 
sentiments  of  the  people.  Some,  indeed,  spoke 
with  no  little  fanatical  bitterness  ;  very  many 
reviled  the  Prophet  in  malignant  terms,  —  but  all 
agreed  that  his  followers  were  sober,  industrious, 
intelligent,  and  devoted.  They  were  all  native 
Americans.  Almost  all  of  them,  we  were  told, 
had  been  good  and  acceptable  members  of  other 
churches  before  they  joined  the  Saints. 


342  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  It  was  Friday  night  when  we  reached  the 
little  village  and  stopped  at  the  inn  kept  by 
one  of  the  most  prominent  of  the  new  sect. 
He  was  a  modest,  quiet  man,  who  only  smiled 
at  the  discourteous  banter  some  of  our  fellow- 
travellers  indulged  in  with  regard  to  his  faith, 
and  said :  '  Wait  and  see,  gentlemen,  and  de 
cide  for  yourselves.  That  is  the  way  I  did. 
You  have  to  look  after  your  salvation,  and  I 
after  mine.  So  you  must  take  your  way,  and 
I  will  take  mine/ 

"The  next  day  we  loitered  about  the  town. 
Our  first  impressions  as  to  the  character  of  the 
people  were  confirmed  by  all  we  saw.  Whatever 
might  be  their  religious  errors,  we  were  bound 
to  confess  that  a  more  peaceable,  industrious,  and 
kindly  community  we  had  never  seen  than  the  few 
hundred  Saints  who  dwelt  at  the  New  Jerusalem. 
In  fact  they  seemed  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  people  around  them  only  by  unusual  sobri 
ety,  industry,  and  contentedness.  I  have  often 
thought  since  that  time  that  the  divine  guid 
ance  in  the  establishment  of  the  new  belief  was 
in  nothing  more  apparent  than  in  the  supreme 
wisdom  which  located  its  New  Jerusalem  in  the 
very  centre  of  the  Western  Reserve.  In  the 
very  midst  of  a  population  of  almost  unmixed 


IN  THE  NEW  JERUSALEM.  343 

New  England  origin,  inheriting  all  their  religious 
intensity,  zeal  for  knowledge,  self-reliance,  and 
unsparing  inclination  to  investigate  and  expose 
all  shams,  —  here  the  uncultured  Prophet  who 
wrote  with  difficulty  and  read  with  ease  only 
with  the  aid  of  the  miraculous  lenses,  the  Urim 
and  Thummim  which  translated  to  his  vision  all 
texts  and  tongues,  —  here,  by  divine  command 
ment,  he  pitched  the  New  Jerusalem  and  laid 
the  foundations  of  the  Temple.  The  city  of  the 
Saints  is  surrounded  by  a  population  of  the 
highest  average  of  intelligence  to  be  found  in 
the  world,  of  the  strictest  morality,  the  most 
universal  religiousness,  and  the  most  fearless 
independence.  In  the  three  counties  which  lie 
nearest,  it  is  said  that  less  than  five  per  cent  of 
the  population  are  of  foreign  birth  ;  four  fifths 
of  the  people  are  of  the  purest  New  England 
stocks.  In  many  towns  the  church  membership 
includes  the  entire  adult  population.  Less  than 
one  in  a  hundred  is  unable  to  read  and  write. 
From  this  people  the  Church  of  the  Latter-Day 
Saints  of  Jesus  Christ  has  drawn  almost  its  en 
tire  membership.  At  this  day  less  than  four 
score  of  its  members  are  of  foreign  birth.  Only 
within  a  twelvemonth  have  they  sent  out  mis 
sionaries  to  enlighten  this  and  other  lands. 


344  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"Many  of  these  facts  I  learned  that  day, 
others  I  learned  afterward ;  but  they  fairly  rep 
resent  the  impression  produced  by  that  day's 
observation.  I  was  favorably  inclined  toward 
the  new  religion  because  it  seemed  to  make 
happy  homes,  peaceful  and  industrious  people. 
Besides  that,  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  false  reli 
gion  could  not  live  in  such  a  blaze  of  intelli 
gence,  and  that  an  impostor  would  not  have 
chosen  such  a  location  for  the  performance 
of  false  miracles.  I  did  not  meet  my  cousin 
Sidney  Rigclon,  as  he  was  absent  in  the"  work 
of  the  Church,  for  which  he  has  been  especially 
set  apart.  I  was  a  stranger  among  a  strange 
people,  but  I  had  not  felt  such  a  sense  of  peace 
and  rest  since  I  grappled  with  your  father  on  the 
slippery  edge  of  the  '  Gulf/  He  too  was  con 
tent.  When  his  countenance  appeared  hover 
ing  over  my  bed  as  I  dropped  asleep  that  night, 
it  was  radiant  with  approval.  Yet  little  did  I 
imagine  how  near  I  was  to  wonderful  events ; 
nor  did  I  dream  that  before  the  morrow's  sun 
had  set,  my  lot  would  be  irrevocably  cast  in  with 
this  little  company  of  Saints,  —  that  I  would 
have  touched  the  Prophet's  hand  and  said  to 
him  :  '  Whither  thou  goest  I  will  go;  thy  people 
shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God ! ' ' 


THE   VOICE   OF  THE   PROPHET. 

THE  Saints  had  gathered  in  the  Temple  and 
the  music  of  the  hidden  performers  was 
floating  through  the  solemn  shaded  spaces  when 
we  reached  the  place  of  worship  the  next  morn 
ing.  All  was  calm  and  silent  save  for  this  and 
the  voices  that  called  to  each  other  from  the  pul 
pits  that  stood  opposite,  each  with  their  four 
tiers  of  dignitaries  who  represented  the  temporal 
and  spiritual  power  of  the  Church.  We  were 
given  seats  near  the  green  veil  which  hangs 
midway  between  these  thrones  of  high-priest 
and  president,  either  of  which  the  Prophet  may 
occupy,  supported  by  the  four-and-twenty  Elders 
and  the  twelve  Apostles  in  one,  and  the  twelve 
Councillors  and  the  Presidents  of  the  Seventies 
when  he  sits  in  the  other. 

"  This  organization  was  not  then  complete. 
Of  elders  and  teachers  there  were  enough,  but 
there  was  a  vacant  seat  in  the  order  of  the 
twelve  Apostles,  eleven  having  been  chosen  by 
divine  direction  more  than  a  month  before ;  but 


346  BUTTON'S  INN. 

as  to  the  twelfth,  no  revelation  had  been  vouch 
safed.  At  this  time  the  people  were  gathered 
together  in  order  that  special  prayer  and  suppli 
cation  might  be  made  for  divine  guidance  in  this 
matter.  The  Prophet  was  in  the  Holy  Place 
awaiting  the  result.  There  was  a  solemn,  but 
not  artistic,  chant  intoned  by  the  congregation, 
and  then  the  music  died  away,  the  veils  were 
drawn  by  invisible  hands,  and  the  people  bowed 
in  prayer.  Sitting  close  to  the  wall  and  in  the 
shadow  of  the  veil,  the  fact  that  I  did  not  re 
move  my  hat  had  probably  not  been  observed ; 
at  least  no  objection  was  made.  For  myself,  I 
was  not  aware  of  it ;  the  habit  had  become  so 
firmly  fixed  that  I  never  thought  of  departing 
from  it.  It  was  a  very  solemn  scene,  —  the  hun 
dreds  of  earnest  worshippers  between  the  veils 
separated  from  other  hundreds  on  the  other  side, 
all  bowed  in  fervent  whispered  petitioning.  I 
watched  it  a  moment,  and  then  bowed  my  head 
with  the  rest.  It  was  many  years  since  I 
had  witnessed  any  religious  ceremony,  and  this 
seemed  more  solemn  and  impressive  than  any  I 
had  ever  beheld.  Still  the  low  inarticulate  mur 
mur  grew  and  swelled  in  the  lofty  space  above 
the  veils.  I  thought  of  what  I  had  heard  of  the 
coming  of  Moroni  in  answer  to  the  prayers  of 


THE    VOICE   OF  THE  PROPHET.  347 

the  congregation,  and  looked  up  just  in  time  to 
see  a  strange  tremor  of  the  veils,  as  if  invisi 
ble  wings  had  indeed  swept  the  air  about  them. 
There  was,  too,  a  rushing  sound  as  if  a  wind 
swept  through  the  Temple  ;  yet  I  knew  that  not 
a  breath  was  stirring  in  the  sultry  air  without. 

"  Instantly  every  one  of  the  worshippers  seemed 
to  have  become  aware  of  these  things,  and  the 
voice  of  prayer  was  spontaneously  changed  to 
praise.  It  was  still  only  a  murmur,  but  it  was 
mingled  with  sobs  and  half-uttered  ejaculations  of 
praise.  'Amen  ! '  '  Hallelujah ! '  '  Glory  to  God  ! ' 
came  from  here  and  there  within  the  veils  and 
beyond  the  confines  of  the  two  between  which  I 
was  seated.  Then  the  ejaculations  grew  into  a 
tumultuous  murmur;  the  angel's  name  and  that 
of  the  Prophet  were  mingled  with  the  various 
appellations  of  the  Most  High.  It  was  a  solemn 
scene.  I  waited,  strangely  moved.  Could  it  be 
true  ?  Had  the  divine  messenger  indeed  passed 
over  the  bowed  heads  of  the  believing  people  ? 
Had  we  indeed  heard  the  rustle  of  seraphic 
pinions  ?  I  waited  in  rapt  expectation. 

"  Suddenly  a  voice,  which  seemed  strangely 
remote  because  of  the  silken  barriers  that  inter 
vened,  struck  the  chords  of  a  hymn  evidently 
familiar  to  the  worshippers,  though  I  had  never 


348  BUTTON'S  IXN. 

heard  it  before.  The  air  was  simple,  yet  full  of 
a  solemn  exaltation.  Faith  and  triumph  were 
blended  in  the  words.  Then  all  arose  and  sang. 
Tears  and  smiles  took  the  place  of  tears  and 
lamentations.  Invisible  hands  drew  the  cur 
tains  aside  once  more.  The  music  of  the  un 
seen  musicians  mingled  with  the  swelling  chant. 
It  was  an  anthem  of  praise  because  their  prayer 
had  been  heard.  The  angel  of  the  Lord  had 
come,  and  His  people  were  comforted.  Finally 
the  chant  ended,  and  the  congregation  sat  down. 
All  was  silent  save  the  breath  of  trembling  ex 
pectation  which  fluttered  over  the  throbbing 
multitude.  I  do  not  know  how  long  we  waited. 
Suddenly,  as  I  watched  the  breathless  throng, 
a  sigh  of  relief  passed  through  it ;  every  face 
lighted  up,  and  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the 
Prophet's  place. 

"  I  followed  the  general  gaze,  and  saw  the  cur 
tain  that  veiled  the  Holy  Place  tremble  as  if  a 
hand  had  passed  gropingly  along  it.  Still  no 
one  was  to  be  seen.  Again  it  trembled  ;  then  it 
was  parted  in  twain,  and  a  man  came  forth  with 
the  dim  uncertain  gaze  that  characterizes  one 
whose  eyes  have  been  blinded  by  too  intense  a 
light.  It  was  the  Prophet,  clad  in  the  white  robe 
he  wore  only  when  he  spoke  by  inspiration. 


THE    VOICE   OF  THE  PROPHET.  349 

"  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  the 
celebrated  founder  of  the  new  faith.  I  do  not 
know  what  it  was  that  made  his  presence  so  im 
pressive.  I  have  come  very  near  him  since  then, 
but  have  never  seen  him  without  feeling  that  I 
stood  in  the  presence  of  a  superior  being.  He 
was  by  no  means  notable  for  comeliness  of  form 
or  regularity  of  feature.  Hardly  above  the  aver 
age  height,  compact  and  sinewy,  with  a  look  of 
calm  determination  on  his  face,  you  might  pass 
him  a  thousand  times  and  not  guess  that  there 
was  anything  remarkable  about  him.  If  you 
chanced  to  note  his  eyes  they  would  hold  you ; 
or  his  smile,  that  would  attract.  Here  was  no 
parade,  no  glamour,  —  just  a  man  clad  in  a 
white  robe,  standing  in  the  bright  light  of  day 
before  a  thousand  people.  Yet  I  had  never  been 
so  hushed  and  awed  by  human  presence.  Before 
he  had  spoken  a  word  my  heart  said  :  '  This  man 
is  a  Prophet.  He  may  be  uncultured,  erring, 
human,  but  he  is  sent  of  God.' 

"  He  stood  looking  over  the  hushed  assem 
blage  for  a  moment  like  one  who  knows  not  what 
he  wishes  to  say.  The  place  where  he  stood 
was  not  like  a  pulpit,  though  it  was  the  apex 
of  the  narrowing  circles  of  seats  on  which  the 
spiritual  dignitaries  sat.  There  was  no  desk,  no 


350  BUTTON'S  INN. 

book,  no  cushion.  It  was  just  a  little  circular 
space  in  which  he  stood  alone,  as  if  cut  off  from 
all  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  silken  curtain 
that  hung  from  the  low  railing  about  it  was  of 
dark  green,  like  that  which  shaded  the  entrance 
to  the  Holy  Place  from  which  he  came.  The 
eleven  Apostles  and  the  four-and-twenty  Elders 
turned  in  their  places  and  looked  up  at  him 
anxiously.  All  these  simple  things  made  a 
peculiar  impression  on  me. 

"  There  is  nothing  stately  or  magnificent 
about  the  Temple,  nothing  ornate  or  artistically 
remarkable,  but  I  doubt  if  such  notable  effects 
were  ever  produced  by  such  simple  means.  The 
Lord  knew  the  poverty  of  -his  Saints,  and  showed 
the  Prophet  how  he  might  be  most  acceptably 
worshipped  without  extravagant  expenditure. 
The  Prophet  had  not  the  treasured  wealth  of 
Israel  at  his  beck,  nor  the  kings  of  the  earth  to 
send  presents  of  gold  and  silver  and  precious 
stones  for  the  adornment  of  the  holy  edifice  ; 
but  I  question  if  even  Solomon's  priceless  Tem 
ple  brought  a  more  worshipful  mood,  or  induced 
a  more  solemn  and  ecstatic  frame  of  mind  in 
those  who  entered  its  hallowed  precincts.  I 
doubt  if  the  Temple  at  Kirtland  will  hold  a 
thousand  people,  —  I  am  sure  it  will  not  seat 


THE    VOICE   OF  THE  PROPHET.  351 

that  number ;  but  many  stood  and  many  more 
sat  in  the  sloping  aisles,  and,  —  I  do  not  know 
why  it  was,  why  it  is,  for  it  is  a  daily  miracle, 
but  it  always  seems  to  me  that  the  congregation 
which  gathers  there  is  an  innumerable  multitude. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  there  are  never  any  vacant 
places,  and  the  light  falls  only  on  the  pulpits  at 
the  end,  while  the  tinted  veils  increase  the  solemn 
shadow  in  which  the  congregation  sit. 

"  It  was  a  long  time  before  the  Prophet  spoke. 
I  had  expected  to  find  him  loud-voiced  and  posi 
tive,  —  an  impostor  who  bore  down  unbelief  by 
sheer  force  of  assertion  and  persistence  of  itera 
tion.  I  had  expected  to  find  readiness  of  speech, 
vigor  of  declamation,  and  vehemence  of  gesture. 
None  of  these  things  appeared.  He  stood  look 
ing  over  the  audience  with  strange  indecision, 
one  hand  resting  quietly  upon  a  post  of  the 
railing  before  him,  while  the  other  plucked  ab 
sently,  rather  than  nervously,  at  the  curtain 
which  depended  from  it.  Self-distrust,  almost 
humiliation,  rather  than  self-confidence  charac 
terized  his  manner.  He  seemed  like  one  com 
pelled  to  utter  words  he  did  not  wish  to  speak. 
Strongly  as  my  curiosity  was  aroused,  I  could 
not  restrain  a  feeling  of  pity  for  one  so  evidently 
compelled  to  do  violence  to  his  own  desires. 


352  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  His  voice,  though  firm  and  resonant,  had  a 
peculiar  sympathetic  character  that  touched  the 
heart,  silenced  doubt,  and  quite  effaced  all  con 
sideration  of  the  speaker.  He  had  not  uttered 
a  dozen  words  before  I  had  forgotten  that  this 
man  was  Joseph  Smith  the  Mormon,  of  whom  I 
had  heard  so  much,  and  only  wondered  what  he 
was  going  to  say,  —  what  was  the  message  he 
was  about  to  deliver. 

" '  Saints,  elders,  and  apostles ! '  said  the 
Prophet.  The  form  of  address  startled  me,  not 
so  much  by  the  terms  used  as  by  the  order  in 
which  they  were  arranged.  I  had  not  been  a 
very  good  boy,  but  there  was  one  thing  I  was 
forced  to  learn  very  thoroughly  in  my  youth, — 
the  New  Testament.  There  are  few  chapters 
of  it  that  I  have  not,  at  one  time  or  another, 
committed  to  memory  as  an  appointed  task ;  and 
if  I  had  seen  little  of  the  Holy  Word  for  years, 
I  was  still  familiar  with  its  language.  It  struck 
me  that  this  putting  of  the  body  of  believers 
before  the  select  official  few  was  a  thing  un 
heard  of  since  the  time  when  Paul  had  written, 
'To  all  the  saints  in  Jesus  Christ,  with  the 
bishops  and  deacons.'  It  was  a  little  thing, 
perhaps,  but  it  made  a  deep  impression  on  my 
mind. 


THE    VOICE  OF   THE  PROPHET.          353 

"'Brethren,'  continued  the  Prophet,  humbly, 
'  the  Lord  hath  made  known  His  will  concerning 
that  matter  which  we  have  in  hand,  and  him  that 
shall  be  chosen.  In  ancient  times  we  know  that 
the  place  made  vacant  in  "the  ministry  and 
apostleship  from  which  Judas  by  transgression 
fell "  was  filled  by  lot  from  among  those  chosen 
by  the  congregation  of  saints.  When  eleven 
had  been  chosen  to  the  new  apostleship  by  di 
rection  of  the  Spirit  and  without  dissent  among 
the  congregation,  we  were  for  a  time  left  without 
guidance,  and  it  was  proposed  that  the  ancient 
method  be  adopted,  and  names  were  accordingly 
selected  for  that  purpose.  It  was  for  direction 
in  this  matter  that  we  gathered  here  for  prayer 
to-day.  In  answer  to  your  supplications  it  is 
vouchsafed  to  me  to  deliver  this  message  from 
the  Most  High:- 

" '  Behold,  I  have  given  commandment  to  my 
angel  Moroni,  that  he  shall  say  to  the  Prophet 
of  the  Lord,  who  shall  repeat  it  to  my  people  : 
Trouble  not  yourselves  about  the  choice  of  my 
servants.  Behold  I  the  Lord  know  in  what 
manner  to  select  my  ministers,  and  who  they 
shall  be.  All  these  things  I  have  foreknown 
from  the  beginning.  And  behold  there  sitteth 
among  you  at  this  time  one  who  is  not  of  you, 
23 


354  BUTTON'S  INN. 

yet  he  shall  be  my  apostle,  the  minister  and 
witness  of  my  truth.  Behold  he  knoweth  it  not, 
nor  doth  his  heart  incline  unto  my  ways  ;  but  I 
have  brought  him  through  darkness  and  tribu 
lation,  that  he  may  glorify  my  name.  I  have 
made  him  to  sin  deeply  and  love  weakly.  There 
is  blood  upon  his  hands.  He  hath  wronged  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless.  Yet  he  shall  be  my 
witness.  He  shall  make  atonement  for  wrong, 
and  offer  his  blood  in  expiation  even  as  I  shall 
command.  Behold,  I  have  put  my  mark  upon 
him  and  preserved  him  many  days  for  this 
thing,  —  that  he  shall  enhance  my  glory,  make 
unbelievers  ashamed,  and  win  for  himself  a  great 
name,  even  like  unto  that  Stephen  who  first  of 
all  gave  his  life  for  my  sake. 

" ' Behold  now  he  sitteth  in  the  sanctuary,' 
exclaimed  the  Prophet,  with  a  fervor  he  had  not 
before  shown,  while  his  eyes  seemed  to  burn  into 
my  heart  and  read  my  inmost  thought.  '  He 
heareth  the  voice  of  my  Prophet,  and  knoweth 
the  truth  of  his  word.  He  weareth  another's 
name,  and  hath  fled  from  the  face  of  his  kin 
dred.  But  I  have  set  my  mark  upon  him, 
—  even  in  the  hair  of  his  head  have  I  set 
my  mark,  and  I  will  claim  him  for  my  own. 
There  is  none  here  that  knoweth  his  face,  but 


THE    VOICE   OF   THE   PROPHET.  355 

I    the   Lord  know  it,  —  also  all  his  words  and 
ways  ! 

"'When  he  cometh  to  join  himself  with  my 
people,  he  shall  fill  the  vacant  place  and  do  all 
that  I  shall  command  him.  Behold  now  he  sit- 
teth  covered  as  to  his  head  in  the  congregation 
of  the  Saints.  So  also  shall  he  alone  sit  cov 
ered  in  the  seat  of  the  apostle,  because  I  have 
put  my  mark  upon  him,  and  he  shall  remain 
covered,  to  hide  it  from  the  sight  of  men,  until 
he  shall  exchange  it  for  a  crown  of  everlasting 
glory ! ' 

"  The  Prophet  paused.  Every  one  turned  and 
looked  at  me.  I  felt  myself  the  centre  of  all  the 
eyes  of  that  seemingly  unnumbered  host ;  but 
I  looked  not  to  the  right  or  left.  Amazed  as  I 
was  at  the  word  to  which  I  had  listened,  I  was 
determined  to  give  no  sign.  Even  if  the  Prophet 
had  not  known  of  whom  he  spoke,  the  eyes  of  the 
congregation  would  have  pointed  me  out  to  him. 
He  gazed  at  me  sharply  for  a  while,  and  said : 

" '  The  angel  hath  given  me  the  name  of  him 
that  shall  be  the  twelfth  apostle,  but  I  know  it 
not.' 

"  He  held  up  a  small  piece  of  paper  as  he 
spoke,  and  after  looking  keenly  at  it,  shook  his 
head  and  continued  :  — 


356  BUTTON'S  SAW. 

" 1 1  do  not  know  it ;  I  never  saw  it  before. 
Nevertheless  it  shall  be  enrolled  as  the  twelfth, 
and  from  this  day  the  order  of  the  apostleship 
shall  be  accounted  full.' 

"  The  Prophet  handed  the  paper  to  one  who 
sat  in  the  circle  beneath  him.  It  was  passed 
from  hand  to  hand.  Each  read  it  and  shook  his 
head.  The  services  were  soon  over. 

"  That  night  I  went  to  the  Prophet's  house, 
where,  in  the  language  of  Scripture,  '  He  told  me 
all  that  ever  I  did.'  As  soon  as  the  necessary 
formalities  could  be  arranged,  I  took  the  seat 
reserved  for  me  on  the  left  of  the  circle  of  the 
apostles.  Because  of  this  I  am  here  to  confess 
my  sin,  to  make  reparation  so  far  as  I  can,  and 
to  offer  the  atonement  that  both  the  law  and 
our  holy  faith  demand.." 


UNEXPECTED   RESULTS. 

MR.  BUTTON/'  said    Ozro,  breaking   in 
upon  the  narrative. 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  the  other,  protestingly,  "  not 
Button.  I  have  saved  my  parents'  name,  at  all 
events.  That  is  what  the  lawyers  tell  me.  My 
name  is  Abner  Jackson,  by  special  enactment  of 
the  Legislature  of  Mississippi ;  and  by  that  name 
alone  can  I  be  indicted,  tried,  and  hanged.  I  'm 
sorry  for  Ma,  and  for  Pa  too  [Ozro  noticed  that 
he  pronounced  the  words  with  the  same  curious 
modulation  that  Dotty  used],  for  he  is  a  proud 
man  in  his  way,  Pa  is,  and  perhaps,  all  things 
considered,  has  about  as  much  reason  for  being 
proud  as  most  mortals.  I  've  noticed,"  he  added 
with  grim  humor,  "that  it  don't  take  much  to 
support  a  pretty  rank  growth  of  pride ;  and 
though  I  have  found  strength  to  obey  the  Lord's 
will  thus  far,  yet  I  want  to  atone  for  my  fault 
under  a  borrowed  name.  Remember  that,  Ozro," 
he  added  solemnly,  "  when  you  deliver  me  to  the 
judge,  and  the  judge  delivers  me  to  the  officer, 
and  my  atonement  is  made  complete." 


358  BUTTON'S  INN. 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  moved  his  lips  as  if  in 
prayer. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Jackson  then,  if  you  will  have  it 
so,"  said  Ozro.  "  I  hope  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  your  sad  story  has  awakened  my  profound- 
est  sympathies  ;  that  goes  without  saying.  It 
is  a  pity  that  the  facts  with  regard  to  the  whole 
matter  could  not  have  been  known  before.  It 
would  have  saved  much  misery." 

"  The  Lord  knows  what  is  best  for  his  chil 
dren,"  was  the  submissive  answer.  "It  might 
have  made  much  more  instead." 

"  True,  true,"  said  Ozro,  thoughtfully  ;  "  at 
least  we  have  the  consolation  of  thinking  that 
the  end  is  near." 

"Very  near,"  said  the  other.  "There  remains 
little  more  for  me  to  do." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that,"  said  Ozro.  "  Like  my 
mother,  I  believe  every  word  you  say.  I  only 
ipeant  that  we  are  near  the  end  of  mystery." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Jackson,  dully,  "  of  course." 

"  I  want  to  say,  too,"  said  Ozro,  rising  and 
going  to  the  window  to  hide  his  emotion,  "  that 
while  I  do  not  doubt  that  her  death  was  due  to 
your  conduct,  I  do  not  think  you  intended  any 
wrong,  and  your  penitence  has  fully  atoned  for 
your  fault." 


UNEXPECTED  RESULTS.  359 

"  I  am  very  grateful,"  said  the  other,  quietly. 
"  I  Ve  done  my  best." 

Looking  up  the  hillside,  Ozro  marked  the  spot 
where  his  mother  lay  buried. 

"  Poor  mother ! "  he  said  to  himself,  while  he 
forgave  as  she  had  forgiven. 

"  As  to  my  father  —  " 

"  Don't  say  anything  about  that,  Ozro,  if  you 
please.  That  is  n't  your  matter  ;  the  law  must 
settle  that.  I  am  not  answerable  to  you  for 
your  father's  death ;  but  so  far  as  I  may,  I  hold 
myself  bound  to  make  good  to  you  such  pecuni 
ary  loss  as  you  have  suffered  thereby." 

"  I  do  not  want  it,  —  I  do  not  need  it,"  said 
Ozro,  hastily. 

"  But  you  will  not  refuse  ?  "  interposed  the 
other,  anxiously.  "  You  don't  know  how  my 
heart  is  set  on  it.  It  is  not  only  paying  for  the 
harm  I  've  done,  but  because  I  've  come  to  think 
so  much  of  you,  too.  You  are  her  child  and  /ris, 
and  in  all  these  years  I  've  been  drawing  near 
to  both  of  them.  It's  a  fact,  Ozro,"  he  said, 
coming  to  the  young  man's  side,  as  if  he  would 
have  put  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  but  re 
fraining  from  doing  so  with  an  effort,  —  "  it 's 
a  fact,  you  feel  nearer  to  me  than  my  own 
kin  ;  because  I  have  thought  of  you  so  much, 


360  BUTTON'S  INN. 

I  suppose.  I  'm  sure  your  mother  would 
approve." 

"  I  can't  talk  about  it,"  said  Ozro,  excitedly. 

"  I  see,  I  see,"  said  Jackson,  mournfully,  shak 
ing  his  head,  as  he  went  back  and  leaned  against 
the  mantle.  "  It  is  the  memory  of  your  father. 
You  think  it  is  blood-money,  —  a  payment  which 
the  murderer  makes  to  buy  forgiveness  for  his 
crime.  You  can't  understand  that  he  has  worked 
with  me  and  helped  me  to  get  this  property. 
You  think  it  is  stained  with  his  blood,  and  don't 
realize  that  it 's  his  money,  —  the  better  part  of 
it  at  least,  for  I  am  not  entitled  to  any  more  than 
an  agent's  share." 

"  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  Ozro,  turning  quickly 
and  going  toward  him,  "  I  have  no  such"  feeling. 
Your  self-condemnation  has  led  you  to  imagine 
what  does  not  exist.  Will  you  please  read  that  ?  " 

He  opened  the  letter  he  had  that  morning 
received,  handed  the  other  an  enclosure  yellow 
with  age,  on  which  the  stiff  bold  handwriting 
stood  out  with  that  sallow  vividness  which  makes 
an  old  manuscript  suggest  the  dead  hand  that 
traced  its  lines. 

Jackson  took  it,  wonderingly ;  read  it  with 
that  care  which  the  habits  of  his  later  life  had 
engendered,  moving  his  lips  as  he  perused  the 


UNEXPECTED  RESULTS.  361 

words,  until  he  reached  the  signature.  Then 
be  turned  back  to  the  date  and  looked  up  at 
Ozro  in  evident  bewilderment. 

"Eighteen  twenty -four!  What  does  it 
mean  ? "  he  gasped  hoarsely,  while  his  hand 
shook  so  that  the  paper  rattled  in  his  grasp. 

"  I  received  it  this  morning  from  Smith  & 
Truman." 

"  Smith  &  Truman  !  His  bankers  !  Eighteen 
twenty-four  !  Thank  God  !  Thank  God  !  " 

The  man  fell  upon  his  knees,  the  tears  cours 
ing  down  his  cheeks,  and  burst  out  in  impas 
sioned  prayer.  Ozro  stooped  and  picked  up  the 
paper  the  other  had  let  fall,  and  stole  quietly 
from  the  room.  He  was  both  dazed  and  horrified 
at  what  he  had  heard.  It  had  changed  the  whole 
theory  of  his  past.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  been 
suddenly  restored  to  his  mother's  arms,  —  his 
mother,  whom  he  had  hardly  dared  to  love. 
The  Inn  was  now  hateful  to  him.  There  was 
something  terrible  in  the  misfortunes  attending 
his  presence  under  its  roof.  He  had  forgiven, 
but  all  sense  of  gratitude  was  blotted  out.  He 
was  sick  of  the  terrible  tragedy  to  the  details 
of  which  he  had  listened.  Only  the  memory  of 
his  mother,  sweet  and  beautiful,  remained.  As 
to  his  father,  —  if  there  was  one  whom  he  had 


362  BUTTON'S  INN. 

not  forgiven,  it  was  the  father  who  had  sus 
pected,  accused,  and  cast  off  his  mother.  Yet 
at  that  very  moment  that  father's  nature  was 
dominant  in  his  own.  He  had  put  away  all 
thought  of  Dotty :  for  him  she  seemed  hardly 
to  exist.  He  could  not  pluck  her  out  of  his 
heart,  —  he  did  not  wish  to  do  that,  —  but  he  had 
irrevocably  decided  that  she  was  to  live  hence 
forth  for  another,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  see  or 
know  anything  of  that  life.  He  felt  no  anger,  — 
hardly  blame,  indeed,  —  but  he  wished  to  avoid 
remembrance  of  her.  He  would  go  to  his 
mother  's  grave,  —  he  must  go  there  now,  —  and 
then  turn  his  back  on  the  old  life  and  all  its  sad 
memories. 

Yes,  he  would  go  to  the  grave.  He  thought 
of  it  at  that  moment,  buried  under  the  snow, — 
the  dark  hemlocks  bending  over  it  protectingly, 
the  great  bowlder  lying  beside  it,  —  this  place 
which  had  been  his  playground  in  youth,  and 
the  trysting-place  of  his  love  afterward.  Here 
he  had  dreamed  his  dreams,  planned  his  under 
takings,  and  mapped  out  his  future.  He  had  a 
superstitious  notion,  too,  that  his  mother  was 
nearer  to  him  here  than  elsewhere,  and  he 
loved  to  think  of  her  as  taking  an  interest  in 
his  welfare  and  watching  over  his  fortunes. 


UNEXPECTED  RESULTS.  363 

As  he  started  out  he  met  the  landlord  on 
the  porch,  and  wondered  if  this  man  would  be 
glad  or  sorry  to  know  of  his  departure.  He 
saw  Louise  laying  the  table  for  the  Christmas 
dinner  as  he  passed  the  window,  and  wondered 
who  would  prepare  the  light  ash-wood  for  the 
great  Dutch  oven,  in  which  the  weekly  baking 
was  done,  when  he  should  be  gone.  As  he 
passed  the  woodshed,  he  noticed  the  abundant 
store  of  this  household  convenience  piled  within; 
he  thought  there  was  enough  to  last  all  winter. 
Louise  had  swept  a  path  to  the  oven,  and  the 
ashes  scattered  on  the  snow  showed  that  it 
was  in  use.  He  knew  that  a  wild  turkey  he  had 
shot  a  few  days  before  was  slowly  roasting  in  the 
great  brick  arch,  flanked  by  many  another  dish 
that  would  grace  the  mid-afternoon  meal  of  the 
Christmas  day.  Dotty  should  have  laid  the 
table,  but  she  was  in  such  haste  to  go  with 
Dewstowe  that  for  once  she  had  left  it  for 
Louise.  He  smiled  bitterly  as  he  thought  of 
this.  Reaching  the  well,  he  lowered  the  bucket 
hanging  on  the  sweep,  dipped  it  skilfully  and 
brought  it  steaming  to  the  curb.  He  balanced 
the  bucket  on  the  edge  of  the  curb,  stooped  and 
drank  from  the  brim.  As  he  went  on  up  the 
hill  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  some  one  had 


364  BUTTON'S  INN. 

been  before  him.  Tracks  led  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  "  Gulf."  Beneath  the  drooping  limbs  of 
the  hemlock  there  were  two  deep  impressions 
in  the  snow.  Some  one  that  very  morning  had 
been  kneeling  by  his  mother's  grave.  With  the 
stranger's  story  fresh  in  his  mind,  Ozro  did  not 
question,  as  he  sank  down  in  the  snow  under 
the  shelter  of  the  dense  green  boughs,  who  it 
was  that  had  been  there  before  him. 


A   FUTILE   QUEST. 

TT^OTTY,  in  her  hasty  search  for  Ozro,  the 
result  of  which  she  had  reported  to 
Dewstowe,  had  not  thought  of  seeking  him  in 
Mr.  Jackson's  room.  In  spite  of  his  long  stay 
at  the  Inn  and  his  familiarity  with  its  inmates, 
Mr.  Jackson  had  been  quite  a  recluse  in  his 
own  apartment.  The  door  of  his  room  was  al 
most  always  shut,  and  his  voice  was  so  often 
heard  in  continuous  monologue  that  it  was  be 
lieved  he  spent  much  of  his  time,  when  thus 
secluded,  in  prayer.  This  fact  made  his  privacy 
all  the  more  complete,  since  none  would  think 
of  intruding  on  his  devotions.  To  her  mother, 
just  waking  to  consciousness,  everything  was 
"  blotted  out "  by  the  one  idea  that  her  son 
was  alive.  Louise,  the  domestic,  could  not  re 
member  that  she  had  seen  Ozro  since  Dotty 
and  Dewstowe  drove  away.  In  reply  to  the 
inquiry  which  Dotty  made  in  the  public-room, 
her  father  said  jocosely, — 

"  La,   no ;    I    hain't   seen   the   creetur    sence 
mornin'.     Like  's  any  way  he  s   'bout  the  barn 


366  BUTTON'S  TNN. 

somewheres.  He  ain't  upstairs,"  he  added,  as 
Dotty  went  toward  the  doorway,  "  'cause  the 
ghost  has  been  there,  and  everybody  in  the 
house  has  been  runnin'  up  and  down  stairs  this 
two  hours.  Come  by  daylight  this  time  ;  I 
seed  it  as  plain  's  I  see  you.  An-'  who  do  you 
suppose  it  is  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  n't  time  to  talk  about  the  ghost," 
said  Dotty,  petulantly,  "  I  want  Ozro." 

"But  't ain't  no  ghost  at  all,  girl,"  said  her 
father,  gleefully,  interposing  between  her  and 
the  door  by  which  she  was  retreating ;  "  it 's 
your  Ma,  Dotty  —  nobody  but  your  Ma !  " 

"  Suppose  it  is,"  said  the  girl,  angrily,  "  could 
n't  you  have  kept  still  about  it,  and  not  made 
her  the  talk  of  the  neighborhood  ?  Poor  M£ ! 
she  ain't  to  blame,"  she  added,  biting  her  lip, 
and  trying  in  vain  to  choke  back  the  tears. 

"  More  she  ain't,"  said  the  landlord,  in  sur 
prise  at  the  absence  of  any  astonishment  on 
Dotty's  part,  — "  more  she  ain't,  an'  nobody 
thought  of  blamin'  her.  Of  course  I  was  glad 
to  know  there  was  n't  any  ghost  after  all ;  an'  the 
doctor  here,"  pointing  to  a  young  man  in  the 
company,  "  he 's  been  in  to  see  her  sence,  an' 
he  says  it 's  a  case  of — of  what  d'  ye  call  it  ?  " 
he  asked,  turning  to  the  young  man,  a  recently 


A   FUTILE  QUEST.  367 

graduated  medical  student,  who  was  making  his 
way  westward  toward  the  fortune  that  awaited 
all. 

"Epilepsy,"  answered  the  physician,  posi 
tively,  but  with  a  blush,  as  Dotty  turned  her 
frightened  gaze  upon  him.  "  A  singular  case, 
too,  but  not  necessarily  alarming.  It  is  a 
strange  disease  ;  nobody  can  ever  tell  its  course 
or  guess  its  end  with  any  certainty.  We  call  it 
structural  in  character,  but  I  think  it  is  some 
times  functional,  —  indeed,  it  must  be,"  he 
added,  as  if  repelling  a  doubt.  "  Coming  so 
late  in  life,  there  is  little  danger  to  be  appre 
hended,  especially  as  it  seems  to  be  irregular 
in  its  manifestations.  How  long  has  it  been 
since  the  last  attack  ? "  he  asked  of  Dotty. 

"  Not  so  very  long,"  said  the  landlord,  answer 
ing  for  her,  "  but  it  had  been  a  good  while  — 
years,  in  fact  —  since  the  one  before  that." 

"And  the  recent  attacks  were  apparently 
brought  on  by  the  recurrence  to  the  same  sub 
ject,  —  the  original  exciting  cause,  I  mean  ?  " 

"That's  it  —  that's  jest  it,"  said  the  landlord. 
"  The  young  man  's  jest  come  twenty-one,  you 
see,  an'  that  has  brought  the  old  matter  up,  so  't 
he  is  likely  to  make  as  much  trouble  at  the  Inn 
as  his  mother  did  afore  him." 


368  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  But  where  is  he  ?  "  inquired  Dotty,  recalled 
to  the  object  of  her  search  by  this  allusion. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  I  don't  know  nothin* 
'bout  him  ? "  answered  her  father,  irritably. 
"  Rot  me,  if  I  don't  hope  he  '11  clear  out,  an' 
the  sooner  the  better  !  Did  n't  he  say  he  was 
goin'  to-morrow?  Well,  I  hope  he'll  jest  date 
his  notion  one  day  ahead,  that 's  all.  Not  that 
I  've  anything  ag'in  him,  but  it 's  bad  luck  to 
have  him  round.  All  this  trouble  with  yer  Ma 
has  been  on  his  account." 

"  If  the  exciting  cause  were  removed  — " 
began  the  young  physician,  thoughtfully.  The 
case  interested  him,  and  he  could  not  help 
speculating  about  it. 

"That's  it  — that's  jest  it,"  interrupted  the 
landlord.  "  He  's  got  to  leave  whether  he  will 
or  no,  and  I  'm  goin'  to  tell  her  so." 

"  That  would  be  very  indiscreet,"  said  the 
medical  man,  hastily.  "  She  should  never  be 
reminded  of  anything  connected  with  the  past 
which  caused  her  trouble." 

"  There  ain't  no  help  for  it,  then,"  said  the 
landlord.  "  It 's  got  to  be  part  of  our  lives,  jest 
as  much  as  if  it  had  been  born  in  us.  We  've 
got  rid  of  the  ghost,  but  I  don't  see  but  the 
trouble  it  made  is  goin'  to  stay  right  on." 


A   FUTILE   QUEST.  369 

He  shook  his  head  hopelessly  as  he  turned 
toward  his  chair  and  sat  down. 

"  See  here,  Pa,"  said  Dotty,  coaxingly,  "  don't 
you  be  troubled.  Don't  you  get  down-hearted, 
now  the  worst  is  over." 

"  But  the  worst  ain't  over,"  said  he,  petulantly. 
"  What  is  the  worst  ?  Why,  it's  what  come  be 
tween  me  an'  Lucy,  ain't  it  ?  Only  think,"  he 
added  with  a  shudder,  "  I  might  have  killed  her! 
It 's  a  mercy  I  did  n't  —  and  now  I  can't  even 
ask  her  pardon  from  fear  of  bringin'  it  all  up 
ag'in." 

"  Oh/'  said  Dotty,  lightly,  "  as  soon  as  I  can 
find  Ozro,  we  '11  make  it  all  right  with  Ma.  I 
wonder  where  he  can  be  ?  "  she  added  anxiously. 

"  Jest  as  like  as  not  he  's  taken  himself  off 
the  same  way  his  mother  did,"  said  the  landlord, 
grimly. 

"Why,  Pa!"  exclaimed  Dotty,  white  to  the 
lips  at  this  confirmation  of  her  unexpressed 
fear.  She  hurried  out  and  made  her  tearful  re 
port  to  Dewstowe,  who  was  waiting  impatiently 
on  the  porch.  His  suggestion  comforted,  almost 
as  much  as  his  ready  acceptance  of  her  fear 
alarmed,  her.  She  had  confidence  in  his  sa 
gacity,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  hope  as  well 
as  gratitude  in  her  glance. 
24 


3/0  B UTTON'S  INN. 

"Don't  cry,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "we  shall 
probably  laugh  at  our  fear  before  we  get  through 
with  our  search.  There  is  nothing  to  fear." 

There  really  was  not ;  but  the  belief  in  the 
inheritable  character  of  the  suicidal  mania  is 
so  universal  that  both  had  leaped  to  the  con 
clusion  that  Ozro  was  especially  liable  to  an 
attack  thereof. 

Dotty  went  to  Mr.  Jackson's  room  and 
knocked.  There  was  no  answer.  After  one  or 
two  attempts  to  attract  attention,  she  opened  the 
door  and  peeped  cautiously  in.  The  stranger 
was  kneeling  by  his  chair,  his  eyes  closed,  and 
his  lips  moving  rapidly,  though  no  sound  issued 
from  them.  She  waited  a  moment,  coughed, 
spoke  his  name,  but  receiving  no  response, 
entered  hesitantly,  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder.  His  eyes  opened  and  he  seemed  to 
look  at  her,  but  his  lips  still  moved  as  if  his 
prayer  went  on. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Ozro  is  ? "  she  asked 
apologetically. 

"Ozro?"  he  repeated  confusedly.  "No  — 
yes  ;  he  was  here  a  few  moments  ago."  He 
rose  from  his  knees  as  he  spoke.  "  It  might 
have  been  a  half  hour  or  such  a  matter,"  he 
added,  looking  at  his  watch. 


A   FUTILE   QUEST.  371 

Dotty  rolled  her  handkerchief  into  a  wad, 
pulling  it  over  her  thumb  unconsciously. 

"  We  can't  find  him  —  anywhere  !  " 

The  man  was  alert  now. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Dewstowe  ?  'r  he  asked, picking' 
up  his  hat.  "  I  will  see  him.  Don't  be  alarmed," 
he  added,  as  he  went  out  hurriedly. 

Dotty  crossed  to  the  window  and  pressed  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes  with  both  hands.  She 
kept  saying  to  herself  that  she  would  not  weep, 
and  then  wept  all  the  harder.  At  length  she 
began  to  dry  her  eyes  and  repress  her  sobs. 
She  heard  Louise  in  the  next  room,  and  did  not 
wish  to  let  her  agitation  be  known.  What  was 
she  troubled  about,  anyhow  ?  Why  should  she 
be  alarmed  ?  It  was  little  compliment  to  Ozro 
that  she  should  distrust  him  so  readily.  She 
put  her  handkerchief  in  her  pocket,  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  bravely  resolved  to  have  no 
more  fear.  The  window  faced  the  slope  of  the 
hill  back  of  the  Inn.  She  started  suddenly, 
and,  leaning  forward,  looked  eagerly  at  the 
white  hillside.  An  exclamation  of  fear  and 
surprise  came  from  her  lips.  She  hurried  out 
of  the  room  and  started  up  the  hill. 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  "  said  the  serving-woman,  as 
she  paused  at  her  work  and  saw  Dotty  taking 


372  BUTTON'S  INN. 

the  snowy  track  up  the  hillside.  "  What  has 
got  into  the  girl  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Ozro  !  " 

Dotty  had  climbed  the  hill  and  followed  the 
track  around  the  end  of  the  hemlock  screen  that 
fell  over  the  grave,  and  found  the  object  of  her 
search  leaning  against  the  great  bowlder,  gazing 
abstractedly  at  the  snowy  mound  before  him. 
He  started  at  her  words,  and  she  threw  herself 
sobbing  upon  his  neck. 

"  Why,  Dotty,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  astonishment 

She  answered  with  tears  and  sobs  and  half- 
incoherent  words. 

"  Forgive  me,  Ozro  —  forgive  me  !  —  I  —  I 
did  n't  —  mean  —  to  be  —  to  be  —  ; 

Words  and  sobs  were  so  commingled  that  he 
could  understand  nothing  except  that  she  was 
uttering  some  remorseful  self-accusation.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Was  she  begging  him  to  forgive 
her  for  having  accepted  Dewstowe  ?  He  could 
think  of  nothing  else,  and  so  shaped  his  consola 
tion  on  this  hypothesis.  She  was  still  his  old 
playmate.  He  loved  her  no  less  than  before,  — 
though,  of  course,  he  must  not  show  his  love 
now.  He  spoke  in  soothing  careless  tones, 
though  all  the  while  he  was  straining  her  to 


A   FUTILE  QUEST.  373 

his  breast  with  a  clasp  that  told  his  love  better 
than  words  could.  She  hardly  heard  his  words, 
but  the  pressure  reassured  her.  She  had  found 
alive  the  lover  whom  she  feared  was  dead.  She 
tried  to  repress  her  sobs,  but  it  was  a  long  time 
before  she  succeeded.  All  the  while  Ozro  was 
talking  in  a  low  soothing  tone,  as  if  he  held  an 
excited  child. 

"There,  there,  dear,"  Dotty  heard  him  say, 
"  I  don't  doubt  you  have  done  what  was 
best.  He 's  a  good  man,  and  —  and  I  have 
no  doubt  he  will  —  will  make  you  —  a  good 
husband." 

"  A  good  husband !  Who  ?  "  she  asked,  look 
ing  up  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Dewstowe,  of  course  !  " 

"  Mr.  Dewstowe  !  "  indignantly  exclaimed 
Dotty,  breaking  away  from  his  embrace.  Her 
eyes  flashed  angrily  through  her  tears,  and 
her  heavy  brows  were  drawn  down  threat 
eningly  above  them.  "  Well,  he  '11  have  to 
wait  a  good  while  first.  That 's  all  I'  ve  got 
to  say  !  " 

"  Wait  —  why  ?  "  he  said  in  a  dazed  wonder 
ing  way.  He  had  settled  the  whole  matter  in 
his  mind,  and  could  not  doubt  the  conclusion  at 
which  he  had  arrived. 


3/4  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Why  ? "  she  repeated  angrily,  stamping  her 
foot  in  the  snow.  "  Because  I  'm  going  to  marry 
you  first  —  numbskull !  " 

Ozro  stood  an  instant  stupefied  with  amaze 
ment.  Then  he  staggered  toward  her,  with 
arms  outstretched,  only  to  meet  a  box  on  the 
ear  and  hear  a  rippling  laugh,  as  Dotty  fled 
down  the  hill  toward  the  house.  She  turned 
before  she  had  gone  a  dozen  steps,  and  looked 
back  for  the  expected  pursuit. 

She  saw  Ozro,  with  his  hat  off,  kneeling  in 
the  snow  under  the  hemlocks  by  his  mother's 
grave.  She  stood  a  moment  irresolute,  and 
then  walked  soberly  on  to  the  house.  As  she 
came  out  on  the  porch,  Dewstowe  and  Jackson 
were  just  driving  out  of  the  barn. 

"  I  have  found  him  !  "  she  called  out  to  them. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  contentment  in  her 
tone. 

"  Dear  me!"  said  Dewstowe, with  well-assumed 
ruefulness,  as  he  reined  the  horses  about  and 
drove  back  upon  the  barn-floor,  "  my  hopes  are 
dashed  again  !  Luck  must  be  against  me  !  " 

"Well,  come  in  with  me,"  said  Jackson,  glee- 
,  fully,  "  and  let 's  see  if  we  can't  change  it." 


AWAKENED  JUSTICE. 

WHEN  Dewstowe  and  Jackson  entered  the 
house  they  went  directly  to  the  room 
of  the  latter,  where  they  talked  in  low  earnest 
tones,  while  Louise  laid  the  table  in  the  room 
without.  Presently  Dotty  came  and  helped 
her.  She  might  have  heard  what  they  said,  for 
strangely  enough  the  door  was  open.  She  won 
dered  what  they  were  talking  about  thac  caused 
Dewstowe  to  walk  back  and  forth  across  the 
room,  with  his  head  fallen  forward  on  his  breast, 
unconscious  of  her  presence  even  when  he  passed 
the  open  door. 

Ozro  went  to  the  barn  and  busied  himself  with 
the  noonday  chores.  A  light  cutter  drove  up 
from  the  direction  of  the  village.  In  it  were 
the  sheriff  of  the  county  and  the'attorney  whom 
Ozro  had  employed  to  secure  his  patents.  They 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  barn  and  exchanged 
civilities  with  Ozro. 

"  Won't  you  go  in  and  warm,  gentlemen  ? 
Dinner  will  be  ready  soon." 

"  We  wish  to  see  you  a  little  while,"  said  the 
attorney,  with  some  embarrassment  of  manner. 


3/6  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  About  your  patents,  Mr.  Evans/'  said  the 
sheriff,  with  bluff  readiness.  "  I  suppose  you  've 
got  time  to  show  'em.  It  seems  they  're  making 
some  noise  in  the  world." 

The  men  got  out  of  the  sleigh,  stamped  their 
feet  on  the  barn-floor  to  start  the  circulation,  and 
then  both  helped  Ozro  to  unhitch  the  horse. 

"  No  use  to  unharness  him.  We  shall  have 
to  return  presently,"  said  the  owner. 

"  Not  until  after  dinner  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps.  Just  throw  a  blanket  over 
him,  and  he  will  be  all  right." 

Ozro  put  the  horse  in  the  stall  and  fed  him. 
Then  all  three  went  into  the  house.  The  land 
lord  welcomed  them  heartily,  and  set  a  black 
bottle  before  them,  with  glasses  and  a  steaming 
jug  of  water.  They  sat  close  to  the  fire  that 
had  driven  the  others  back  with  its  heat,  their 
faces  growing  red  while  they  held  up  the  soles 
of  their  boots  to  the  blaze,  resting  the  heel  of 
one  on  the  toe  of  the  other  and  screening  their 
faces  with  their  hands.  The  sheriff  talked  in 
an  off-hand,  hearty  way,  now  and  then  scanning 
sharply  the  company  in  the  room.  Presently 
he  rose  and  said,  — 

"  Well, 'Evans,  let  us  have  a  look  at  those 
machines.  We  have  n't  much  time." 


AWAKENED  JUSTICE.  377 

The  landlord  urged  them  to  remain  to  dinner, 
and  they  consented.  Ozro  led  the  way  up  the 
stairs.  The  sheriff  came  last,  and  carefully 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  The  fire  had 
burned  low  in  the  room  above.  Ozro  piled  the 
brands  together  and  put  on  more  wood.  Then 
he  showed  and  explained  the  machines,  the  vis 
itors  in  the  mean  time  watching  him  more  than 
his  handiwork. 

"  They  appear  to  do  the  work  they  were  in 
tended  for/'  said  the  sheriff,  finally.  "  It  seems 
they  Ve  heard  of  them  down  to  York  a'ready. 
I  hope  you  will  make  a  good  spec  out  of  them; 
but  you  '11  have  to  be  sharp,  keep  your  eyes 
open  and  get  the  value  of  your  work,  —  that's 
the  way.  Such  a  thing  depends  as  much  on 
how  it 's  handled  as  on  what  it 's  really  worth." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  attorney,  to  whom  these  words 
were  evidently  a  cue.  "  I  got  a  letter  the  other 
day  from  some  New  York  bankers  making  a 
good  many  inquiries  about  you ;  said  they  had 
seen  notice  of  a  patent  issued  to  you,  and  were 
anxious  to  learn  all  they  could  about  you. 
There  it  is,"  he  continued,  handing  Ozro  a 
letter.  "  No  doubt  they  '11  make  you  an  offer,  — 
perhaps  send  an  agent  to  trade  with  you.  I 
would  n't  say  anything  about  the  letter  if  I 


378  BUTTON'S  INN. 

were  you.  To  keep  from  telling  what  you  know 
is  half  the  battle  sometimes." 

The  letter  was  signed  "  Smith  &  Truman." 

"  Looks  promising,  don't  it  ?  "  said  the  sheriff, 
encouragingly,  after  Ozro  had  finished  its  perusal. 

Ozro  smiled,  and  asked  if  he  could  retain  the 
letter.  The  attorney  assented. 

The  sheriff  looked  curiously  about  the  room. 

"  This  is  the  room  your  mother  died  in,  isn't 
it,  Evans  ? " 

Ozro  nodded  assent. 

"  Thought  so.  I  was  a  boy  then,  but  came  to 
the  inquest.  How  long  ago  was  it  ? " 

"  Eighteen  years." 

"'Bout  this  time  of  year,  too,  wasn't  it?  I 
remember  it  was  awful  cold." 

"  She  died  on  Christmas  Eve." 

"  So  ?  Thought  I  was  not  mistaken,"  —  with 
an  expressive  glance  at  the  lawyer.  "  This  is 
the  ghost-room,  then  ?  " 

Ozro  smiled. 

"  That  story  did  not  keep  you  out  ?  " 

"  Nor  the  ghost  either." 

"  I  suppose  not :  too  ethereal  to  frighten 
you?" 

"  No,  substantial  enough.  Gentlemen,  I  may 
as  well  put  an  end  to  all  that  tale  of  ghostli- 


AWAKENED  JUSTICE.  379 

ness.  For  some  months  I  have  known  what 
has  been  revealed  to  many  to-day,  —  that  the 
ghost  was  only  a  poor  woman  whose  brain  was 
shattered  by  my  mother's  sad  fate." 

"  You  mean  —  " 

"  I  mean  one  who  has  been  all  that  a  mother 
could  be  to  me ;  who,  believing  her  husband 
a  criminal,  shielded  his  name  from  suspicion, 
while  doing  all  in  her  power  to  make  reparation 
for  his  supposed  offence." 

"  But,  how  ?  I  thought  the  only  entrance  to 
this  room  had  been  nailed  up  for  years." 

Ozro  went  to  his  work-bench,  took  up  a  small 
iron  hook  with  a  cross  handle,  and  returning, 
stooped  over  and  lifted  up  the  trap-door.  The 
others  approached  and  peered  down  into  the 
closet  below. 

"  Clambers  up  the  shelves  ?  "  asked  the  officer. 

Ozro  bowed. 

"  When  ?  "  asked  the  other,  sharply. 

"  When  she  is  asleep  —  unconscious  —  living 
over  again  a  time  of  terror." 

"I  see.  Well,  shut  it  up.  I  don't  like  to 
look  at  it  —  makes  one's  flesh  crawl.  Who  have 
you  got  at  the  Inn,  now  ? "  carelessly  turning 
away. 

"  Several  strangers  staying  over  Christmas." 


380  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Doing  a  little  better  of  late,  is  n't  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  or  rather  not  quite  so  bad." 

"  The  mortgage  has  been  paid  off,  I  hear." 

"  Indeed  ? " 

"  Did  n't  know  it,  eh  ? " 

Ozro  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,  released,  or  conveyed  rather,  to  Mrs. 
Button,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Anybody  else  here  ?  "  asked  the  sheriff. 

"  Yes  ;  there  is  Mr.  —  Jackson,"  said  Ozro, 
hesitating  at  the  name. 

"  Mr.  Jackson  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  Abner  Jackson,"  answered  Ozro,  flush 
ing  at  the  inquiry.  "  You  know  him." 

"Tall,  black  fellow,  with  hair  all  over  his 
face?" 

"  Yes." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  here  ? " 

"  About  four  months." 

"  What 's  his  business  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ozro,  smiling;  "  He 
says  he  's  doing  the  Lord's  work." 

"  Does  ?      Awful  pious,  is  n't  he  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  would  say  so." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Evans,"  said  the  officer, 
shaking  off  his  assumption  of  indifference,  "  do 
you  know  who  this  man  is  ?  I  don't  want  to 


A  WA  KENED  JUS  TICE.  3  8 1 

do  anything  to  trouble  you  or  old  man  But 
ton,  either,  unnecessarily.  I  brought  Harmon 
with  me  because  he  is  your  friend,  and  your 
attorney  too.  Now,  I  '11  show  you  what  brought 
me,  and  he  can  advise  you  and  —  anybody  else 
that  needs  advice." 

The  sheriff  thereupon  drew  some  papers 
from  his  pocket,  and  taking  two  frpm  the  bun 
dle  handed  them  to  Ozro. 

"  There  are  two  letters  I  have  lately  received. 
Just  read  them,  if  you  please.  One  came  from 
here  last  night,  you  see." 

The  first  that  Ozro  opened  was  written  in  a 
heavy  uncultured  hand,  with  peculiar  and  glar 
ing  errors,  yet  not  without  a  certain  sense  of 
force  behind  it,  which  often  characterizes  the 
chirography  of  persons  of  strong  but  untrained 
minds.  It  was  directed  to  the  sheriff,  and 
read  : — 

RESPECTED  SIR,  —  Knowing  that  you  must  desire 
to  perform  your  official  duty  in  good  faith,  I  have  the 
honor  to  inform  you  that  a  man  who  committed  a 
murder  in  your  county  eighteen  years  ago  will  be  at 
Button's  Inn  on  Christmas  Day  next  hereafter  ensu 
ing.  A  word  to  the  wise  is  sufficient. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

JOHN  CLANCY. 


382  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  Who  is  John  Clancy  ?  "  asked  Ozro. 

"  Blessed  if  I  know !  Nobody  ever  heard  of 
such  a  man  in  this  county,  and  you  see  he 
takes  precious  good  care  not  to  let  it  be  known 
where  he  may  be  found.  But  read  the  other." 

It  was  addressed,  like  the  former,  to  the 
sheriff.  Ozro  opened  it  and  read :  — 

SIR, — The  day  of  atonement  and  retribution  is  at 
hand.  Eighteen  years  ago  I  took  a  human  life  in 
this  county.  To-morrow  you  will  find  me  ready  to 
submit  myself  to  the  law  in  reparation  for  that  offence. 
I  shall  be  at  Button's  Inn. 

By  the  will  of  the  Lord  and  by  commandment  of 
His  Prophet,  I  have  the  honor  to  be 
Your  obedient  servant, 

ABNER  JACKSON. 

"  Along  with  the  first  letter,"  said  the  sheriff, 
"and  as  if  intended  to  act  as  a  pointer,  I  re 
ceived  this." 

He  handed  Ozro  an  unopened  letter,  directed 
to  Abner  Jackson,  Esq.,  in  care  of  the  sheriff. 

"  That 's  what  brought  us  here,"  he  said. 
"  Now,  what  have  you  got  to  say  about  it  ? 
What  do  you  know  about  this  man  Jackson  ? " 

"  He  told  me  his  story  to-day." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 


A  WAKENED  JUSTICE.  383 

"  Jack  Button  !  " 

"  I  suspected  as  much.  And  he  killed  your 
mother !  I  'm  sorry,  Evans,  —  more  for  you 
than  for  him  ;  but  duty  is  duty.  Don't  you 
think  so  ? "  turning  to  the  lawyer. 

The  officer  rose  from  his  chair  as  he  spoke, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  a  disagreeable 
task  to  perform. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Ozro.  "  He  was  in 
love  with  my  mother." 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  said  the  sheriff,  nodding 
corroboratively,  but  not  with  any  indication  of 
abandoning  his  purpose. 

"  It  was  my  father  whom  he  thought  he  killed." 

"  Your  father  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Though,  as  I  have  just  proved  to 
him,  my  father  did  not  die  until  several  years 
afterward." 

"  And  your  mother —  " 

"  Died  of  excitement  on  hearing  of  his  sup 
posed  death  !  " 

"  You  have  evidence  of  this  ?  " 

Ozro  handed  him  the  letter  he  had  received 
that  morning. 

The  officer  glanced  it  over. 

"  It  was  sent  by  Smith  &  Truman,"  said  Ozro. 

"  That  would   seem   to   settle   it,"   said    the 


384  B  UTTON'S 

sheriff,  with  a  tone  of  relief.  "  You  are  quite 
satisfied  that  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  your 
mother's  death  ? " 

"  Perfectly." 

"  He  thought  your  father  dead  until  you 
showed  him  this  paper  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  it 's  turned  out  this  way. 
It 's  been  a  bad  matter  all  through,  and  a 
mystery  no  one  could  quite  unravel.  I  'd  like 
to  see  the  man,  though." 

"  Oh,  you  '11  see  him  at  dinner,  and,  I  take  it, 
hear  from  him  too.  It  seems  he  came  back 
just  on  purpose  to  give  himself  up." 

"  A  little  —  cracked  ?  "  said  the  sheriff,  with  a 
gesture  toward  his  head. 

"  No  !  "  said  Ozro,  decidedly.  "  A  strong  prac 
tical  man,  who  has  been  controlled  by  a  curious 
delusion." 

Ozro  then  gave  his  listeners  a  brief  outline 
of  what  JackSon  had  told  him  a  few  hours 
before. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  the  lawyer,  with  genuine 
sympathy  ;  "  how  he  must  have  suffered  !  " 

"  I  remember  him,"  said  the  sheriff,  thought 
fully.  "  He  was  a  handsome  fellow.  I  'm  really 
sorry  for  him.  So  he  's  Abner  Jackson,  one  of 


A  WAKENED  JUSTICE.  385 

Joe  Smith's  apostles  !  Well,  it  runs  in  the  blood. 
I  'm  inclined  to  think  religious  insanity  is  just  as 
hereditary  as  —  as  any  other." 

"  Ozro  !  "     It  was  Dotty  calling  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs. 


PARTITION   AND   PARTNERSHIP. 

A  SKING  his  company  to  excuse  him,  Ozro 
went  down.  Dotty  informed  him  that 
Mr.  Jackson  desired  to  see  them  both  fora  short 
time.  She  looked  very  grave,  almost  frightened. 
It  was  evident  that  she  had  learned  her  relation 
ship  to  the  stranger,  though  she  still  referred  to 
him  as  Mr.  Jackson.  They  went  together  to  his 
room,  —  she  holding  Ozro's  hand,  as  if  to  cast 
the  responsibility  of  guidance  upon  him.  They 
found  Dewstowe  still  in  conference  with  the 
stranger.  The  merchant  was  walking  up  and 
down  the  room  with  quick  decided  steps,  and 
a  brisk  alert  look.  Mr.  Jackson  was  sitting  by 
the  table,  which  was  covered  with  papers.  His 
hat  was  off,  and  there  was  an  air  of  cheerful 
anticipation  about  him  which  Ozro  had  never 
observed  before. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  and  let 
us  have  this  matter  settled."  Dewstowe  glanced 
keenly  at  Ozro,  but  continued  walking  back  and 
forth  across  the  room  without  speaking.  They  sat 
down  together,  Dotty  still  holding  Ozro's  hand. 


PARTITION  AND  PARTNERSHIP.          387 

"  In  view  of  a  contingency  not  now  likely  to 
occur,"  said  Jackson,  with  a  meaning  smile,  "  I 
recently  disposed  of  my  estate.  This  was  done 
with  the  idea  of  making  some  reparation  for  a 
wrong  I  had  committed,  and  also  in  acknowl 
edgment  of  the  fact  that  but  for  certain  influ 
ences  the  property  thus  distributed  would  never 
have  been  accumulated.  You  have  each  been 
informed  of  these  circumstances  as  far  as  is 
necessary  to  enable  you  to  understand  your  own 
relations  to  the  result.  I  also  desired  to  avoid 
any  complication  in  regard  to  the  disposition  of 
my  property  that  might  arise  from  my  legal 
relations,  which  I  then  supposed  would  soon  be 
somewhat  peculiar.  It  seemed  to  me  just  and 
right,  under  these  circumstances,  that  I  should 
make  a  disposition  of  my  property,  which  has  in 
part  been  carried  out,  and  the  papers  to  com 
plete  which  are  already  prepared.  I  hope  that 
you  who  are  interested  will  not  now  balk  my 
wishes  by  refusing  to  acquiesce.  I  can  assure 
you  that  in  the  whole  matter  I  have  considered 
your  interests  rather  than  my  own  preferences. 

"  One  third  of  my  estate  I  have  reserved  for 
myself  and  parents  during  our  natural  lives, 
the  same,  or  the  residue  thereof,  to  go  after  the 
death  of  the  survivor  to  the  Presidents  of  the 


388  BUTTON'S  INN. 

Church  of  Latter-Day  Saints  of  Jesus  Christ, 
or  the  Trustees  or  Supreme  Council  of  the 
same,  by  whatever  name  the  same  may  come 
to  be  designated,  for  the  use  of  the  whole 
body  of  the  Saints  on  earth,  according  to  their 
discretion  and  judgment.  One  third  I  endeav 
ored  to  divide  equally  between  my  sister  and 
Ozro  Evans.  This  portion  consists  of  a  plan 
tation  with  a  few  slaves  in  Mississippi,  and  a 
part  interest  in  a  steamboat  on  that  river.  The 
plantation  I  have  already  given  by  deed  to  Dotty, 
and  had  intended  the  interest  in  the  boat  for 
Ozro.  This  he  has  declined  to  accept.  I  hope 
'he  has  changed  his  mind,"  he  added  with  a 
smile. 

"If  he  hasn't,  just  give  it  to  Dotty,"  said 
Dewstowe.  "  It  will  be  all  the  same,  and  a 
great  deal  handier  if  she  should  want  to  marry 
again." 

Dotty  made  a  spiteful  mouth  at  the  jester,  but 
Ozro  replied  seriously,  — 

"  I  should  much  prefer  to  have  it  so." 

"Well,"  rejoined  Jackson,  "it  will  not  be 
difficult  to  change  that.  Now  we  will  get  on. 
You  will  understand  that  it  was  at  first  my  in 
tention  to  make  an  equal  division  of  all  my  estate 
with  the  son  of  —  with  Ozro,  I  mean.  Since  I 


PARTITION  AND   PARTNERSHIP.  389 

have  come  to  understand  his  character  and  rela 
tions  to  others,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  the 
interests  of  all  may  be  better  subserved  by  a 
further  subdivision.  I  have  therefore  drawn  an 
agreement  by  which  he  and  Mr.  Dewstowe  are 
to  become  equal  partners  in  such  business  enter 
prises  as  they  may  choose  to  undertake,  and  have 
transferred  to  them,  as  trustees,  the  remaining 
third  of  my  estate,  to  be  used  for  the  benefit  of 
that  business." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Dewstowe,  sharply, 
"it  is  a  clear  gift  to  me  of  one  half  the  amount. 
That 's  the  bother  of  it.  There  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  give  me  anything,  and  I  don't 
like  to  accept  a  mere  gratuity." 

He  bit  his  lip,  with  a  look  of  annoyance  ;  -yet 
it  was  evident  that  the  proposal  was  not  alto 
gether  distasteful  to  him.  He  saw  the  advan 
tages  which  would  accrue  from  the  control  of 
added  capital,  was  awake  to  the  opportunities 
of  the  time,  and  appreciated  Ozro's  mechanical 
ability ;  but  his  Yankee  pride  revolted  from 
accepting  a  pecuniary  favor. 

"I  can  understand  your  .objection,  Mr.  Dew 
stowe,"  said  Jackson  gravely ;  "  but  the  prop 
erty  being  my  own,  have  I  not  a  right  to  dispose 
of  it  as  I  desire  ?  You  would  have  accepted 


390  BUTTON'S  INN. 

it  as  a  bequest,  and  have  felt  grateful  for  my 
remembrance  of  you  on  my  death-bed." 

"That's  so,"  admitted  Dewstowe,  with  a 
shrug. 

"  Why  require  me  to  die  in  order  to  do  you 
a  favor  ?  "  asked  Jackson,  shrewdly. 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  Dotty ;  whereat  they  all 
laughed,  not  because  there  was  anything  funny 
about  the  remark,  but  because  it  was  a  nai've 
indorsement  of  the  force  of  the  argument. 

"I  will  not  disguise  from  you  the  fact,  Mr. 
Dewstowe,"  said  Jackson,  "  that  I  should  never 
have  thought  of  this  if  I  had  not  seen  how 
useful  you  might  be  as  a  partner  — " 

"  If  you  had  only  managed  to  convince  Miss 
Dotty  of  that,"  interrupted  Dewstowe. 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Jackson,  pleasantly  ;  "  you 
young  people  must  settle  those  things  for  your 
selves.  I  guess  Dotty  has  chosen  rightly." 

"  I  am  half-inclined*  to  think  so  myself,"  said 
Dewstowe  ;  "  though  I  felt  bad  enough  about  it  a 
little  while  ago.  The  fact  is,  I  guess  I  was  made 
for  business  instead  of  sentiment,  anyhow." 

"  That 's  just  it,"  said  Jackson.  "  The  more  I 
know  of  you,  the  higher  I  esteem  your  personal 
qualities ;  but  you  are,  first  of  all  things,  a  busi 
ness-man.  Unless  I  greatly  mistake,  there  is  a 


PARTITION'  AND  PARTNERSHIP.          391 

brilliant  career  before  you.  Ozro  will  be  of  great 
advantage  to  you,  and  you  of  infinite  benefit  to 
him,  —  and  Dotty  should  be  a  help  to  both. 
This  is  a  day  of  great  mechanical  changes. 
Steam  will  revolutionize  every  form  of  produc 
tion.  An  age  of  invention  has  already  dawned. 
To  know  what  to  devise  and  how  to  render  the 
inventive  faculty  available  is  as  valuable  as  the 
power  to  invent  itself.  These  elements  your 
practical  sagacity  and  wide  experience  and  ob 
servation  will  furnish.  Ozro  has  the  other 
quality.  Such  a  combination  is  bound  to  suc 
ceed.  So  you  see  I  gratify  myself  doubly,  by 
aiding  in  your  joint  success,  which  I  shall  always 
claim  as  due  entirely  to  my  foresight.  Now, 
what  do  you  say  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Well,  Evans,"  said  Dewstowe,  expectantly, 
"it  is  for  you  to  speak  first." 

He  turned  and  looked  sharply  at  the  younger 
man  as  he  spoke. 

"  If  I  can  keep  up  my  end,"  said  Ozro,  delib 
erately,  "  I  '11  try,  —  that  is,  if  Dotty  has  no 
objection." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  the  best  thing  in  the 
world,"  said  the  girl,  shyly,  "  if  —  if  you  can 
afford  it,  brother  Jack." 


392  BUTTON'S  INN. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  called  him  her 
brother,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  as  she 
did  so. 

"  Don't  be  troubled  about  that,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile,  though  there  was  something  of  tremor 
about  his  lips ;  "  if  I  get  short  I  will  come  and 
live  with  you,  and  so  save  my  cake  and  eat  it 
too." 

Dotty  sprang  up  and  threw  herself  into  his 
arms,  as  she  said,  through  her  tears,  — 

"  You  are  just  the  best  brother  in  the  world  !  " 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  Dewstowe,  wiping  his 
eyes,  as  he  shook  Ozro  by  the  hand.  Then 
there  was  laughter  as  well  as  tears,  for  Jackson 
said,  returning  Dotty's  embrace,  — 

«  And  yet,  little  Sissie,  —  that 's  what  I  used 
to  call  you,  —  the  sheriff  is  in  the  house  at  this 
moment  looking  for  me.  Bring  him  in,  Ozro, 
and  let 's  have  him  witness  these  papers  before 
anything  slips  out  of  gear  again." 

Dotty  dried  her  tears,  and  rushed  off  to  see 
if  her  mother  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  be 
told  the  good  news.  The  sheriff  and  the  attor 
ney  came  as  desired.  The  necessary  alterations 
were  made,  and  the  papers  executed,  when  the 
sheriff  recalled  the  letter  which  had  been  sent 
in  his  care  for  Jackson,  and  handed  it  to  him. 


PARTITION  AND  PARTNERSHIP.  393 

The  latter  opened  and  read  it  with  much  show 
of  respect.  Handing  it  to  Ozro,  he  said,  with 
an  air  of  deep  reverence, — 

"  The  will  of  the  Lord  be  done.  He  is  above 
all  prophets  and  priests.  He  hath  led  me  by 
His  right  hand,  and  I  have  done  according  to 
His  will,  even  when  I  knew  not  what  I  did. 
What  is  done  may  not  be  undone.  The  Lord 
will  care  for  His  people." 


SAINTS  AND   SINNERS. 

/TPHE  letter  was  from  an  eminent  dignitary  of 
-*-       the  Mormon  Church.     It  read :  — 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER  AND  COADJUTOR  IN  THE  WORK  OF 
THE  LORD : — 

All  your  brethren  in  the  Apostleship  and  in  the 
Church  send  cheer  and  greeting  unto  thee  in  respect 
of  the  trials  and  tribulations  which  the  Spirit,  through 
His  blessed  Messenger,  hath  foretold  by  the.  mouth  of 
His  Holy  Prophet  should  happen  unto  you  about  this 
time.  "  Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall  persecute  you 
,  for  my  sake,"  said  Jesus  of  Nazareth ;  and  what  was 
true  in  that  day  is  not  less  true  in  the  day  of  Joseph 
Smith,  the  chosen  Prophet  of  the  Lord,  whom  He 
hath  called  to  be  the  head  of  the  reformed  and 
redeemed -Church  of  Latter-Day  Saints. 

Remember,  my  brother,  that  thy  brief  sufferings, 
which  are  but  for  a  season,  will  redound  to  the  ever 
lasting  glory  of  that  New  Dispensation  so  mysteriously 
revealed  through  the  will  and  power  of  Almighty  God. 
Seeing  thy  courage,  thy  truth,  and  thy  unconquerable 
resolution  to  make  atonement  for  thy  fault,  the  shame 
will  be  taken  away  from  the  New  Zion ;  men  will 
marvel  at  thy  constancy,  and  believe  in  the  faith  by 
which  thou  art  inspired  to  good  works.  Thy  name 


SAINTS  AND  SINATERS.  395 

will  be  handed  down  to  endless  ages  with  that  of  the 
proto-martyr  Stephen,  and  like  him  thy  blood  shall  be 
the  seed  of  the  New  Church,  the  vindication  of  the 
new  and  purified  Gospel.  Be  of  good  cheer,  therefore, 
and  may  God  give  thee  grace  to  endure  all  in  His 
name,  and  send  His  holy  angel  to  bring  thee  from  the 
martyr's  cross  to  the  throne  that  awaits  the  first  blood- 
atoning  witness  in  the  New  Jerusalem. 

All  the  brethren  pray  for  thee ;  and  when  thy  hour 
of  final  trial  comes,  you  may  have  assurance  that  every 
Saint  is  bowed  before  the  Lord,  asking  His  presence 
with  thee,  to  make  thy  burden  easy,  and  the  darkness 
light  about  thee. 

My  dear  brother,  I  am  moved  to  speak  privately  to 
thee  on  mine  own  account.  The  Prophet  hath  re 
ceived  commandment  respecting  thee,  but  being  still 
of  the  flesh  he  wavereth  and  hesitates  to  give  it  words. 
I  know  not  what  it  may  be,  but  I  do  know  that  the 
Prophet  is  sorely  troubled  because  of  it,  and  hath 
been  for  many  days  greatly  depressed.  Because  of 
this  I  have  cast  about  in  my  mind,  and  verily  believe 
I  have  discovered  the  reason  of  his  sorrow  and 
discomfiture. 

Thou  knowest,  my  brother,  that  the  Church  of  God 
is  sore  pressed  for  that  of  which  thou  hast  abundance. 
It  is  true  thou  hast  given  already  with  a  lavish  hand ; 
but  let  me  ask  thee,  my  brother,  if,  instead  of  leaving 
that  substance,  with  which  God  hath  blessed  thee,  for 
thy  kindred  to  snarl  and  quarrel  over,  and  lest  thou  be 
tempted  to  escape  the  pains  of  thy  glorious  atone 
ment  by  using  it  to  blind  the  eyes  of  justice  and 


396  BUTTON'S  INN. 

enlarge  the  meshes  of  the  law,  it  were  not  better  that 
thou  shouldst  give  it  complete  and  entire,  a  worthy  and 
acceptable  sacrifice,  to  the  Church  of  God  on  earth? 
Thou  knowest  the  throes  which  the  Church  now  suffers. 
Thou  knowest  how  the  ungodly  abound  in  subtle  de 
vices  to  work  her  ill.  Doth  not  thy  own  soul's  safety, 
the  glory  of  thy  martyrdom,  and  the  good  of  the  whole 
body  of  the  Saints  on  earth  demand  that  thou  shouldst 
do  this  before  Satan  tempt  thee,  and  the  flesh  grows 
weak? 

I  opine,  my  dear  brother,  that  the  Spirit  com 
manded  the  Prophet  to  have  this  thing  done  before 
thou  didst  go  out  from  among  us,  and  that  he  hath 
been  much  tormented  because  of  his  disobedience. 
Being  the  eldest  of  thy  brethren  in  the  Apostleship,  I 
make  bold  to  call  these  things  to  thy  mind,  and  trust 
the  Lord  will  guide  thy  feet  in  the  way  of  wisdom 
whilst  thou  livest,  and  bring  thee  up  through  thy  great 
tribulation  to  be  the  eternally  glorified  first  witness  of 
His  truth.  Remember  the  Church  is  in  sore  straits  for 
that  earthly  substance  which  can  be  to  thee  hereafter 
only  a  temptation  and  a  snare.  The  Lord  keep  thee. 
Amen. 

When  Ozro  had  read  the  letter  aloud  by  his 
direction,  Jackson  said  :  — 

"I  would  not  wilfully  disobey  the  command 
ment  of  the  head  of  the  Church,  or  the  advice 
of  my  brethren  in  the  Apostleship.  But  in  this 
thing  which  I  have  done  I  see  the  Lord's  hand, 


SAINTS  AND  SINNERS.  397 

and  have  followed  His  leading.  The  flesh  is 
weak,  but  God  knoweth  all  things  even  from 
the  beginning." 

The  name  which  was  signed  to  this  letter  has 
since  become  renowned  throughout  the  world, — 
for  sanctity  among  them  that  believe  in  him, 
and  for  sagacity  and  power  among  all  men. 

"  Let  me  see  it !  "  said  the  sheriff,  quickly. 
He  took  the  other  letter  from  his  pocket,  and 
compared  the  handwriting  carefully. 

"  Mr.  Jackson,  don't  you  think  both  these 
letters  were  written  by  the  same  hand  ? " 

Jackson  took  them,  looked  at  them  carefully, 
arid  said  calmly  :  — 

"  They  are  very  like." 

"  Like !  The  handwriting  is  precisely  the 
same  in  both  !  " 

"  Possibly." 

"  Well,  I  vow,  you  take  it  coolly  !  Don't  you 
see  they  tried  to  have  you  hanged  in  order  to 
get  hold  of  your  property  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  rules  and  overrules,"  said  Jackson, 
with  a  reverential  upward  look. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  believe  in  these 
men,  or  the  religion  they  profess,  after  that,"  said 
the  sheriff,  indignantly. 

"  Shall  I  doubt  the  Almighty  because  of  the 


39$  BUTTOAr 'S  INN. 

weakness  of  His  servant?"  said  Jackson, 
solemnly.  "  Who  was  he  who  wrote  upon  the 
ground,  '  Let  him  that  is  without  fault  cast  the 
first  stone '  ?  Are  the  priests  and  ministers  of 
your  faith,  —  are  they  who  despise  and  persecute 
the  Saints  of  God  because  they  dare  to  believe 
His  word,  —  are  they  without  fault  ?  Nay,  I  will 
not  even  admit  your  insinuation.  My  brethren 
no  doubt  feared  that  my  strength  might  fail,  and 
they  desire  above  all  things  that  the  Church  may 
be  purged  from  stain.  Of  course  they  know 
the  needs  of  the  Church,  and  do  not  know  how 
the  Lord  has  directed  me  since  I  came  here.  I 
would  have  given  my  life  willingly  to  atone  for 
a  crime  I  thought  I  had  committed,  because  the 
faith  I  have  espoused  requires  atonement  for 
wrong ;  and  I  have  a  right  to  ask  that  the  mo 
tives  of  my  brethren  be  not  impugned." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,  sir,"  answered 
the  sheriff,  with  respectful  seriousness ;  "  but  I 
tell  you  what,  I  shall  be  careful  how  I  allow  any 
of  the  bills  of  the  '  Kirtland  Bank '  to  be  shoved 
on  me  hereafter  !  " 

"  And  you  will  do  well,"  said  the  apostle, 
earnestly.  "  The  Prophet  erred  grievously  when 
he  gave  that  institution  the  sanction  of  his  name. 
Pride,  and  not  humility,  was  at  the  bottom  of  the 


SAINTS  AND  SINNERS.  399 

impulse  he  mistook  for  revelation.  Shame  and 
woe  will  certainly  come  to  God's  people  because 
of  it.  But  He  knoweth  best.  After  the  deliver 
ance  from  Egypt  came  the  forty  years  in  the 
wilderness.  The  errors  of  God's  servants  cast 
no  shadow  on  His  truth." 

"  You  evidently  accept  th.e  faith  without  much 
confidence  in  the  Prophet,"  said  the  sheriff,  with 
a  smile. 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?  "  answered  Jackson.  "  I 
would  not  give  countenance  to  any  of  the  slan 
derous  reports  that  have  been  spread  abroad  in 
regard  to  the  Prophet's  life ;  but  we  should  re 
member  that  it  is  not  necessary,  even  if  it  were 
possible,  that  a  prophet  should  be  a  spotless 
being.  Look  at  the  lives  of  Moses  and  Jacob 
and  David  for  an  answer  to  such  foolish  criti 
cism.  The  prophet  is  merely  the  mouthpiece 
of  the  Almighty.  He  is  like  the  pipe  that  brings 
water  from  a  fountain,  —  it  may  be  laid  in  mire, 
but  the  beasts  of  the  earth  drink  the  precious 
drops  it  brings,  and  live.  For  only  one  has  . 
such  a  thing  as  perfect  purity  been  claimed,  and 
to  him  a  divine  origin  is  attributed.  It  is  not 
the  Prophet  to  whom  our  faith  is  given,  but  to 
the  Divine  Mind  which  he  but  interprets  for  us. 
I  believe  in  the  New  Dispensation  simply  be- 


400  BUTTON'S  INN. 

cause  it  seems  to  me  in  conformity  with  truth, 
and  healthful  in  its  influences  upon  human  life. 
The  believer  may  be  mistaken,  or  the  prophet 
may  be  insincere  ;  it  matters  little,  so  long  as  it 
is  God  in  whom  we  believe,  and  not  man." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  "  I  think  I  '11  stick 
to  the  old  way  for  a  while,  anyhow." 

"  What  do  you  call  the  '  old  way  '  ?  Will  you 
go  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  or  back  to  Judaism  ? 
Protestantism  itself  is  a  new  faith,  and  the 
Church  of  the  Saints  is  only  its  youngest  branch. 
Did  it  never  strike  you  as  a  singular  fact  that  all 
our  people  are  Protestants,  or  come  out  of  Pro 
testant  peoples  ?  I  do  not  think  there  is  one 
among  us  who  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  nor  have 
I  ever  known  a  Jewish  convert.  You  claim 
Protestantism  to  be  better  than  the  old  faiths  : 
why  should  not  Mormoi  ism  be  better  than 
Protestantism  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  argue  with  you,  Mr.  Jackson,"  said 
the  sheriff,  shaking  his  head  good-naturedly. 
"  I  'm  not  very  strong  on  religion,  anyhow  ;  but 
Mormonism  will  have  to  show  better  fruits  than 
it  has  yet  produced,  to  command  my  approval. 
You  have  a  right  to  cite  your  conduct  in  its 
favor ;  but  do  you  know  I  think  your  action  is 
due  more  to  your  character  than  to  your  faith. 


SAINTS  AND  SINNERS.  401 

You  would  have  done  what  you  have,  had  you 
never  seen  the  Temple,  or  heard  the  voice  of  the 
Prophet." 

"  It  may  be,  it  may  be,"  said  the  apostle, 
with  a  troubled  look  ;  "  God  alone  knoweth  the 
heart !  " 

The  solemnity  of  his  words  impressed  his 
hearers  deeply,  and  a  long  silence  followed. 
Dotty  stole  out  and  resumed  the  work  of  assist 
ing  Louise  in  preparing  the  dinner.  After  a 
while  her  mother  came,  very  pale  and  very  weak, 
and  helped  her  languidly.  They  talked  in  low 
tones  as  they  moved  back  and  forth  around  the 
table,  glancing  often  at  the  open  door  of  the 
room  of  the  son  and  brother  whose  new  name 
was  more  familiar  to  their  lips  than  the  one  he 
had  first  borne. 


26 


SOUL   SCOT. 

"  T    SUPPOSE  the  old  Inn  will  be  given  up 

-*•  now  ? "  said  the  sheriff,  breaking  the  si 
lence  at  last. 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  more,  and  then  my 
work  here  will  be  done,"  said  Jackson,  looking 
dreamily  at  Ozro. 

The  young  man's  face  flushed  under  the  in 
quiring  glances  that  were  directed  towards  him. 

"  I  suppose,  Evans,"  said  the  sheriff,  jocularly, 
"  that  we  can  hardly  count  on  you  to  put  the  old 
Inn  in  repair,  and  restore  its  former  glory." 

"  I  think  not,"  answered  Ozro  ;  "  in  fact,  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  have  to  adhere  to  my  intention 
and  leave  here  to-morrow." 

"  What  —  now  ?  "  asked  Dewstowe,  with  a 
comical  grimace.  "  Don't  think  of  it,  partner. 
There  is  no  need  for  such  haste.  I  '11  go  back 
and  wind  up  the  old  business,  hunt  up  a  stand  for 
the  new,  and  get  a  shingle  painted,  'Dewstowe  & 
Evans,'  you  know,  —  so  that  you  won't  lose  your 
way  when  you  come  to  the  city  to  look  for  me. 
Stay  here  till  summer ;  that 's  soon  enough  to 


SOUL  SCOT.  403 

begin  the  new  enterprise.  You  know  we  have 
yet  to  decide  what  we  '11  do,  and  where  we  '11  do 
it.  I  don't  think  the  former  will  be  hard  to 
determine,  but  the  latter  will  stand  a  deal  of 
thinking  about.  I  may  as  well  do  the  scouting 
before  you  come  on.  You  'd  better  stay  here 
and  help  the  'Apostle,'  for  I  judge  the  job  he 
refers  to  could  n't  well  be  done  without  you." 

"  I  was  about  to  consult  you  in  regard  to  this 
matter,"  said  Ozro,  smiling  at  Dewstowe's  jest, 
but  addressing  himself  to  the  attorney,  and 
handing  him  a  paper.  "  Will  you  read  this, 
and  advise  me  what  ought  to  be  done  ? " 

The  letter  Ozro  had  received  was  from  a  New 
York  banker,  who  was  one  of  the  executors  of 
his  father's  will,  a  copy  of  which  was  enclosed. 
A  notice  of  Ozro's  invention  had  fallen  under 
the  banker's  eye,  and  the  inquiries  he  had  made 
of  the  lawyer  were  *  the  results.  The  reply  the 
attorney  had  made  satisfied  him  of  Ozro's  iden 
tity.  The  will  was  a  singular  instrument,  but 
quite  in  character  with  the  role  its  author  had 
played  in  the  little  drama  of  the  hillside  hostel. 
It  was  duly  proved  and  certified  under  the  seal 
of  a  State  then  but  recently  admitted  to  the 
Union.  At  Ozro's  request  the  lawyer  read 
aloud  the  substantive  parts  as  follows :  — 


404  BUTTON'S  INN. 

"  I  George  Evans,  of  the  town  of ,  county  of 

,  in  the  territory  of  Michigan,  being  of  sound  and 

disposing  mind,  do  hereby  make  and  publish  this  my 
last  will  and  testament,  in  the  words  and  figures  follow 
ing,  to  wit :  — 

"  Item.  I  omit  the  usual  invocation  to  the  Supreme 
Being,  because  of  doubt  as  to  whether  such  a  being 
exists.  Until  past  middle  life  I  served  God  faithfully 
according  to  my  lights.  To  this  I  attribute  all  the 
sorrow  I  have  experienced,  and  nearly  all  I  have 
caused  others  to  suffer.  If  there  is  a  God,  He  has  not 
shown  himself  a  just  God  to  me,  having  given  me 
none  of  those  things  promised  to  those  who  serve 
Him,  except  earthly  possessions,  which  I  think  due  to 
my  own  foresight  rather  than  to  His  favor,  since  I  have 
observed  that  this  blessing  is  granted  most  abundantly 
to  those  who  least  desire  to  serve  Him.  I  therefore 
feel  at  liberty  to  dispose  of  my  acquisitions  without 
asking  guidance  or  direction  from  Him. 

"  Item.  I  will  that  my  body,  which  has  served  me 
faithfully,  be  decently  interred ;  and  I  direct  that  ten 
of  my  townsmen,  to  be  selected  from  the  list  I  shall 
leave,  be  requested  to  act  as  pall-bearers,  and  be  paid 
one  hundred  dollars  each  for  their  services  out  of  the 
moneys  in  hand  at  my  decease.  I  desire  that  they 
wear  white  gloves,  white  hats,  white  waistcoats,  and 
cravats,  and  blue  broadcloth  coats  ;  all  to  be  provided 
by  my  executors  out  of  the  first  funds  coming  to  their 
hands. 

'•''Item.  I  give  and  bequeath  all  my  estate,  both  real 
and  personal,  to  my  son  Ozro  Evans;  the  son  also  of 


SOUL  SCOT.  405 

my  wife  Matilda  E.  Evans,  on  the  following  con 
ditions  :  ( i )  That  within  six  months  after  coming  of 
age  he  shall  claim  said  inheritance  of  my  executors, 
and  furnish  proof  of  his  identity.  (2)  That  he  shall 
be  able  to  earn  a  livelihood  by  his  own  exertions,  and 
shall  have  shown  a  reasonable  inclination  to  do  so. 
(3)  That  if  not  already  married,  he  shall,  within  the 
time  limited,  marry  a  woman  about  his  own  age,  of 
good  family  and  repute,  with  whom  he  has  been 
acquainted  for  ten  years,  and  who  has  never  been 
affianced  to  another. 

"  Item.  In  case  of  the  failure  of  my  said  son  to 
claim  this  bequest  within  the  -time  limited,  or  to 
comply  with  the  conditions  above  specified,  I  give  and 
bequeath  my  entire  estate  to  the  trustees  of  the  town 

of ,  where  I  now  reside,  the  income  to  be  used 

by  them  in  paying  the  expenses  of  needy  and  deserv 
ing  boys,  to  be  selected  by  competition  from  the 
schools  of  the  town,  at  any  college  they  may  choose 
in  this  State ;  the  fund  thus  advanced  to  each  being 
accounted  a  loan,  to  be  paid  back  in  ten  equal  annual 
instalments,  to  be  added  to  the  fund,  in  order  to  teach 
them  that  he  who  receives  favor  should  not  forget  to 
do  kindness  to  others. 

"  Item.  I  forbid  my  executors  to  make  any  adver 
tisement,  search,  or  inquiry  for  my  said  son  until  the 
tenth  day  of  September,  1839,  at  which  time  he  will 
come  of  age.  I  do  this  simply  to  afford  a  practi 
cal  test  of  a  religious  theory.  For  more  than  forty 
years  of  my  life  I  believed  in  an  all-wise,  all- 
merciful,  and  all-just  God,  and  dedicated  myself  to 


406  BUTTON'S  INN. 

His  service.  My  wife,  who  did  not  share  my  religious 
views,  rebelled  against  the  restraints  my  conscience 
compelled  me  to  lay  upon  her.  We  separated,  but  I 
never  ceased  to  love  her.  My  harshness  no  doubt 
wrought  her  death.  If  I  was  wrong,  —  as  I  feel  that 
I  must  have  been,  —  no  suffering  can  atone  for  my 
error.  I  have  neglected  her  child,  because  I  felt  how 
futile  it  would  be  to  attempt  reparation  for  the  wrong 
done  his  mother.  Of  course,  if  there  is  a  just  God,  He 
will  see  to  it  that  the  inheritance  comes  to  the  hands 
of  the  rightful  heir,  and  so  my  doubt  may  serve  to  con 
firm  the  faith  of  others.  For  myself,  I  have  neither 
faith  nor  hope.  I  should  prefer  to  believe,  even  now, 
but  see  nothing  in  my  life  to  justify  belief.  It  would 
be  folly  to  pretend  any  great  affection  for  the  son  whom 
I  have  thus  neglected,  but  I  can  fairly  say  that  I  hope 
he  will  have  a  happier  life  than  mine  has  been. 

"  I  forgive  all  those  who  have  done  me  wrong,  not 
as  I  hope  to  be  forgiven,  but  whether  forgiven  or  not. 
I  have  no  fear  of  death.  Though  I  have  never  sought 
to  do  evil,  I  feel  that  the  world  would  have  been  better 
if  I  had  never  been  born  into  it."  1 

"  Well,  that  is  a  will,"  said  Dewstowe,  with  a 
low  whistle.  "  What  kind  of  a  man  was  this 
father  of  yours,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Do  not  blame  him,"  said  Jackson,  solemnly. 
"  This  is  but  the  cry  of  his  bitterness.  '  My 

1  Members  of  the  legal  profession  who  are  familiar  with 
testamentary  literature  will  have  no  difficulty  in  tracing  this 
instrument. 


SOUL  SCOT.  407 

God !  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ? '  cried  the 
Nazarene  in  his  agony.  Out  of  the  good  your 
father  sought  to  do  had  come  the  most  terri 
ble  evil.  He  felt  that  he  had  doubly  slain  her 
whom  he  loved,  —  once  with  suspicion,  and  once 
with  harsh  judgment.  No  wonder  he  doubted, 
when  what  he  counted  duty  brought  such  bitter 
consequences.  Yet  he  did  not  do  evil,  nor  wish 
evil  to  his  fellows,  and  at  the  last  trusted  the 
God  he  thought  he  had  renounced. 

"  He  was  a  victim,"  continued  Jackson,  "  of  a 
religious  faith  which  developed  to  a  dangerous 
degree  the  idea  of  universal  conformity  to  in 
flexible  ideals.  What  had  become  a  second 
nature  to  him  was  only  a  slower  death  to  the 
gentle  woman  whom  he  loved.  He  was  willing 
to  do  murder  in  God's  name ;  and  the  jealous 
fervor  of  his  nature  prevented  him  from  seeing 
his  act  in  its  true  light  until  its  terrible  result 
overwhelmed  his  hope.  He  was  simply  a  pro 
duct  of  that  good  which,  when  rooted  in  human 
nature,  quickly  deteriorates  and  soon  yields  evil 
fruits." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  the  matter-of-fact  Dew- 
stowe,  "he  was  a  sort  of  righteous  sinner?" 

There  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  at  the  humor 
ous  combination,  which  was  checked  when  Jack- 


408  BUTTON'S  INN. 

k 

son  said  with  reverent  inclination  :  "  Ay,  one  of 
those  in  whom  God  alone  can  tell  where  sinful- 
ness  ends  and  righteousness  begins." 

Ozro  tearfully  extended  his  hand  to  the 
strange  religionist  whose  faith  nothing  could 
daunt,  and  whose  charity  was  measured  by  an 
unfailing  sense  of  his  own  unworthiness,  who 
grasped  it  warmly. 

"  Well,"  said  the  lawyer,  who  had  gotten  out 
his  pencil  and  made  some  figures  which  he  had 
been  carefully  considering,  "  whatever  may  be 
the  truth  about  his  religious  views,  your  father 
has  left  a  remarkably  clear  will,  and  one  the 
provisions  of  which  must  be  literally  complied 
with.  You  have  just  sixty-nine  days  in  which 
to  get  married  and  prove  yourself  his  son. 
This  proof  may  have  to  be  made  both  in  New 
York,  where  one  of  the  executors  resides,  and 
also  in  Michigan,  where  the  will  is  recorded  ; 
so  I  should  say  that  there  is  not  a  moment 
to  lose. " 

"  Why  not  have  the  wedding  to-night  ? " 
suggested  the  sheriff. 

"  Capital  !  "  said  Dewstowe.  "  And  I  will 
leave  my  load  here,  and  we  will  make  the  trip 
to  New  York  on  our  own  runners.  The  bays 
will  do  it  quicker  than  the  stage." 


SOUL   SCOT.  4°9 

"  The  lady  ? "  inquired  the  lawyer,  who  was 
studying  the  will.  "She  —  " 

"  I  will  answer  for  her,"  said   Jackson,  with 

dignity. 

"  She  has  never  been  engaged  to  another  ?  " 
continued  the  lawyer,  glancing  keenly  at  Dew- 
stowe. 

"  There  it  is  again,"  said  the  merchant,  with 
assumed  dolorousness.  "  My  luck  is  certainly 
deserting  me!  Now,  if  I'd  just  had  a  bit  of 
understanding  with  her,  Evans,  your  cake  would 
be  dough.  But,  no,  I  didn't.  It  wasn't  my 
fault,  but  your  good  fortune  — or  perhaps  her 
good  sense." 


A  WEAVER'S   KNOT. 

OO  the  Christmas  merry-making  at  Button's 
Inn  became  a  wedding.  Dewstowe  was 
best  man  and  master  of  ceremonies.  The  gray- 
haired  landlady,  her  heart  filled  with  a  solemn 
joy,  gave  ceaseless  thanks  for  mercies  all  the 
more  precious  because  unexpected.  The  bur 
den  of  sorrow  lifted,  the  son,  whom  she  had 
mourned  as  worse  than  dead,  restored ;  the 
stain  which  she  had  believed  to  rest  on  their 
good  name,  removed;  and  Dotty  and  Ozro 
united,  —  these  were  more  than  she  had  hoped, 
and  all  that  she  could  desire. 

"  'T  ain't  nateral,  't  ain't  nateral,"  said  the 
landlord  to  Dewstowe,  as  he  sat  before  the  fire 
in  the  public-room,  with  the  great  punch-bowl 
beside  him,  "  that  a  man  should  be  exactly 
sober  when  things  have  turned  out  so  well  after 
runnin'  ag'in  him  so  long ;  but  I  am,  you  see. 
The  fact  is,  I  feel  kind  of  solemn-like ;  and 
while  I  'm  glad  to  see  the  neighbors  enjoyin' 
themselves,  I  jest  can't  bear  to  put  a  glass  to 
my  lips.  Seems  as  if  I  ought  to  be  prayin' 


A    WEAVER'S  KNOT.  411 

instead  of  carousin'.  That's  the  way  of  life.  It 
don't  matter  how  careful  a  man  may  be,  before 
he  gits  to  the  end  he 's  sure  to  find  out  he  's 
been  a  fool.  The  chief  difference,  I  take  it,  is 
that  some  find  it  out  sooner  'n  others.  I  never 
was  much  else,  and  discover  it  too  late  to  be 
anythin'  better.  It  don't  seem  nateral  that 
things  should  come  so,  but  I  'spect  it 's  about 
right.  When  you  come  to  think  on  't,  it  seems 
that  the  things  that  ain't  nateral  happens  about 
as  often,  if  not  a  little  oftener,  than  them  that 
are.  '  T  was  n't  nateral,  now  I  look  at  it,  for 
me  to  take  a  spite  ag'in  Ozro  and  prefer  you ; 
but  I  did.  'T  was  n't  nateral  for  Dotty  to  like 
a  poor  feller  such  as  he  better  'n  one  that  was 
enterprisin'  and  fore-handed  like  you  ;  but  she 
did,  an'  it  seems  she  was  n't  so  fur  wrong  arter 
all.  Some  folks  never  try  to  set  things  right 
without  gettin'  of  'em  wrong.  I  'm  one  o'  that 
kind.  That  man  Evans  seems  to  have  been 
another.  Poor  fellow !  I  can't  help  thinkin'  he 
got  hold  of  the  worst  end  of  the  trouble  he 
made.  Fer  me,  I  ain't  goin'  to  try  to  guess  nor 
understand  nothin'  'bout  things  —  how  they  're 
goin'  to  be  or  ought  to  be  —  any  more  ;  an'  I 
don't  b'leve  Lucy  will,  either.  What  comes, 
that  I  'm  goin'  to  take,  and  not  fret  about  what 


412  BUTTON'S  INN. 

tomorrer  's  goin'  to  bring  or  yesterday  failed 
to  furnish.  But  I  don't  want  no  more  liquor  — 
never — not  another  drop.  Life  's  too  solemn  a 
thing  to  git  through  with  unless  one  has  all  the 
wits  he  's  got  about  him  —  'specially  when  he 
gits  to  my  time." 

Three  months  afterward  the  Bank  of  Kirtland 
failed,  and  the  exodus  began,  which  ended  only 
at  Salt  Lake.  Abner  Jackson  stood  firm  in  the 
faith  he  had  espoused.  Even  when  his  cousin 
Sidney  Rigdon  gave  way  and  recanted  the  tes 
timonies  he  had  given,  Jackson  did  not  falter. 
Though  he  was  never  degraded  from  his  apos- 
tleship,  he  ceased  to  be  a  favorite  of  the  Prophet 
and  his  sagacious  and  renowned  successor,  when 
it  was  learned  that  only  an  insignificant  portion 
of  his  splendid  estate  would  come  under  the  con 
trol  of  the  authorities  of  the  Church.  When  he 
returned  to  "  the  place  where  the  Ark  of  the 
New  Dispensation  first  rested,"  Jackson  took 
with  him  his  aged  father  and  mother.  When  the 
bank  failed,  and  the  wrath  of  the  people  burned 
hot  against  Joe  Smith  and  his  followers,  Jack 
son  was  the  first  to  propose  their  migration  to 
the  South  ;  and  the  attempt  to  "build  the  walls 
of  Zion"  at  Far  West  was  in  a  great  measure 


A    WEAVER'S  KNOT.  413 

due  to  his  influence.  Here  the  old  landlord  suc 
cumbed  to  the  climate.  He  was  never  a  very 
ardent  believer  in  the  New  Faith.  "  It  suits 
Lucy,  and  of  course  it  suits  me,"  was  a  fair  and 
oft-repeated  statement  of  his  religious  status. 
The  wife,  who  out-lived  him,  saw  the  brief  but 
splendid  "  Empire  of  the  Faithful  "  at  Nauvoo, 
and  was  the  first  one  stricken  by  the  bullets  of 
their  assailants  before  the  treacherous  murder 
of  the  Prophet.  So  that  her  name,  instead  of 
that  of  her  son,  stands  as  the  proto-martyr  in 
the  sanctified  necrology  of  the  Saints. 

Abner  Jackson  alone  of  all  the  apostles  dis 
approved  of  the  Order  of  the  Danites,  which  was 
organized  especially  to  uphold  the  power  of  the 
Prophet  at  all  hazards,  and  was  the  boldest  of 
all  the  believers  in  rebuking  the  profligacy  and 
iniquity  of  him  whose  name  was  •"  written  in 
the  book  of  gold  "  as  "  the  Prophet  of  the  Lord, 
worthy  of  all  honor  and  power  and  dominion 
and  obedience,  even  unto  death."  His  faith  in 
the  new  doctrines  never  wavered  ;  he  did  not 
question  the  truth  of  the  new  revelation,  yet  did 
not  hesitate  to  reprove  the  sins  of  the  Prophet. 
His  long  black  beard  and  jetty  hair,  with  the  lock 
of  silvery  white  stretching  from  brow  to  crown, 
made  him  a  striking  figure,  and  he  was  one  who 


414  BUTTON'S  INN. 

could  neither  be  awed  by  threats  nor  conciliated 
by  promises.  The  triple-headed  presidency  used 
him  as  far  as  they  could,  taking  care  never  to 
drive  him  into  actual  revolt.  They  bore  with 
his  reproaches  and  hid  from  him,  as  far  as  pos 
sible,  their  enormities.  To  the  mass  of  believ 
ers  he  was  the  most  sanctified  of  the  Saints. 
Unselfish,  fearless,  and  upright,  he  was  the  real 
leader  of  the  great  march  over  the  desert  wil 
derness  to  the  Promised  Land.  He  rebuked 
the  malecontents,  cheered  the  fainting,  helped 
the  weary,  soothed  the  dying,  and  closed  the 
eyes  of  the  dead.  He  did  not  live  to  see  the 
"  New  Jerusalem  of  God  on  earth,"  or  witness 
the  glory  of  the  "  chosen  people  "  in  their  Prom 
ised  Land ;  but  from  a  Pisgah  height  he  looked 
down  upon  the  sparkling  sea,  by  whose  waters 
the  Temple  stands  to-day,  before  at  last  he  ren 
dered  up  his  soul.  The  rulers  of  the  New  Zion 
were  not  sorry,  but  the  people  mourned  his  loss. 
He  was  buried  in  the  mountains,  and  like  him 
who  died  in  Moab,  "  no  man  knoweth  his  sepul 
chre  unto  this  day." 


THE  WORLDS'   MUTATION. 

THE  epoch  of  the  locomotive  had  come. 
Steam  and  electricity  had  joined  hands 
for  the  annihilation  of  time  and  space.  Mechan 
ical  genius  had  burst  the  bonds  by  which  it  had 
been  so  long  confined,  and  the  earth  was  full  of 
the  ceaseless  clamor  of  newly  invented  forms. 
The  gnomes  of  Labor  crowded  mountain  and 
cavern  and  land  and  sea  in  restless,  sooty  mul 
titudes.  The  night  was  as  the  day.  The  iron 
horse  flashed  through  the  frightened  land,  heed 
less  of  storm  and  darkness.  The  age  of  won 
ders  had  dawned.  The  mountains  were  levelled 
with  the  plain  in  search  for  the  golden  grains 
they  hid.  Primeval  rocks  were  crumbled  into 
dust  for  the  sake  of  the  snowy  drops  that  nestled 
in  their  veinings.  "  The  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth  "  became  as  next-door  neighbors.  Thought 
outsped  the  sunshine,  and  the  silent  message 
flew  faster  than  the  storm  it  heralded.  Moments 
did  the  work  of  years,  and  the  lightning  mocked 
at  the  laggard  spheres.  The  great  marts  of  earth 


416  BUTTON'S  /AW. 

became  as  one.  The  world  was  radial  through 
out  its  whole  extent,  each  point  touching  at  once 
the  centre  and  the  circumference. 

In  a  sunny  room  overlooking  one  of  the  great 
hives  of  industry  stood  Ozro,  strengthened  yet 
refined ;  Devvstowe,  grawn  full  and  sleek,  but 
yet  alert  and  resolute ;  and  Dotty,  sober  and 
matronly,  but  not  less  fair.  Along  the  crowded 
river-bank  the  red  fires  leaped  from  the  furnace- 
doors.  The  smoky  vapor  rose  in  black  fleecy 
folds  above  the  towering  chimney-top.  The 
clang  of  mighty  engines  jarred  the  solid  walls. 
On  the  mantel  was  the  model  of  a  machine  for 
heading  pins,  done  in  silver  and  ebony,  and  set 
in  a  glass  case.  The  two  men  leaned  against 
the  mantel,  inspecting  the  model.  Dotty  stood 
beside  an  easy-chair  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
regarding  them  with  quiet  satisfaction. 

"  Not  much  of  a  machine,"  said  Ozro,  smiling. 
"  I  wanted  to  make  her  a  model  of  one  of  my 
latest  inventions  for  her  birthday,  but  she  would 
have  no  other." 

"And  I  was  right,  —  was  I  not,  Mr.  Dew- 
stowe  ? " 

"  Entirely  right,  madam,"  answered  Dew- 
stowe,  bowing  graciously,  and  stroking  his 
long  beard  meditatively.  "  It  is  a  wonderful 


THE    WORLD'S  MUTATION.  417 

machine  !  It  has  made  '  Dewstowe  &  Evans ' 
famous  wherever  a  wheel  turns  on  an  iron 
rail,  built  up  a  city,  made  half-a-dozen  for 
tunes,  and  —  kept  me  a  bachelor  !  " 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  about  the  last,"  said  the 
lady,  with  an  arch  smile,  as  she  came  and  leaned 
against  her  husband's  arm  and  gave  her  hand 
to  his  friend. 

"  Strange,  is  n't  it  ? "  she  said  dreamily,  as  she 
looked  out  of  the  plate-glass  window,  past  the 
smoke-stacks  and  the  forges,  —  past  the  bust 
ling  city  half  a  thousand  miles  away,  to  the  crum 
bling  Inn  by  the  quiet  country  roadside. 

"  'T  ain't  nateral,  is  it  ?  "  said  Dewstowe,  with 
a  touch  of  his  old-time  mimicry. 

"  It  is  only  part  of  a  universal  miracle," 
said  Ozro,  solemnly,  "  of  which  we  have  seen 
but  the  beginning,  and  of  which  no  man  can 
foretell  the  end." 


The  Inn  has  fallen  to  decay.  The  road  that 
led  by  its  door  is  grass-grown  with  disuse.  The 
scream  of  the  locomotive  sounds  mockingly 
among  the  crumbling  rafters.  The  forests  are 
cut  away,  and  villages  smile  up  at  it  across 

the  slope  in  the  sunshine.     The  Prophet's  few 

27 


41 8  BUTTON'S  INN. 

hundred  followers  have  grown  to  nearly  half  a 
million.  The  miracle  we  have  witnessed  has 
become  so  familiar  to  our  eyes  that  we  mock  at 
it  as  commonplace,  and  assert  that  pettiness 
alone  is  truth,  and  declare  that  real  life  is  con 
cerned  only  with  multitudinous  trivialities,  dis 
coverable  only  by  elaborate  processes  of  morbid 
self-dissection. 


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A  SHORT  HISTORY  OF  THE  CITY  OF   PHILADEL 
PHIA 

From  the  Foundation  to  the  Present  Time.  By  SUSAN 
COOLIDGE.  I2mo.  Cloth.  $1.25. 

BOSTON   SCHOOL  KITCHEN  TEXT-BOOK. 

Lessons  in  Cooking  for  the  use  of  Classes  in  Public  and  In 
dustrial  Schools.  By  Mrs.  D.  A.  LINCOLN,  author  of  "  The  Boston 
Cook  Book,"  "  Carving  and  Serving,"  etc.  I  vol.  I2mo.  Price, 

$1.00. 

MADAME  DE  STAEL.     By  Bella  Duffy. 

(Famous  Women  Series.)    i6mo.    Cloth.    Price,  $1.00. 

THE  ROB  ROY  CANOE. 

By  JOHN  MACGREGOR,  M.A.     A  new  edition.     Including:  — 

A  THOUSAND  MILES  IN  THE  ROB  ROY  CANOE  on  Rivers  and 
Lakes  of  Europe.  Map  and  illustrations. 

THE  ROB  ROY  ON  THE  BALTIC.  A  Canoe  Cruise  through  Nor 
way,  Sweden,  Denmark,  Sleswig-Holstein,  the  North  Sea, 
and  the  Baltic.  With  maps  and  illustrations. 

THE  VOYAGE  ALONE  IN  THE  YAWL   ROB   ROY,  from   London 
to    Paris,  and   back  by  Havre,  the   Isle    of   Wight,   South 
C«ast,  eic. 
Three  books  complete  in  one  volume.      i6mo.      Cloth,  gilt. 

Price,  $2. co.     Separate  volumes,  $1.25  each. 


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